


We Kill the Ones We Love Because They Take Our Breath Away

by VisceralViscaria



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (Obviously), AOB, Alpha!hannibal, Hannibal is a Cannibal, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mob Activities, Omega!will, Omegaverse, Organized Crime AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, improper use of pigs, mentions of menstration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3119528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisceralViscaria/pseuds/VisceralViscaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Tones of spice and musk hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from his lungs. They wrapped around his head and swirled through his brain, ensuring that this scent would be seared into him permanently. No matter what he did or where he went it would follow him. His long ignored omegan side was screaming two words, over and over again.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>True Mate.</i>
</p><p>---</p><p>While Will is at a crime scene he realizes the Chesapeake Ripper is his True Mate. Three years later, he's finally ready to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Empty

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't have the time to be writing this but here we are. Amazing. I'm convinced that I'll never stop making AUs, it's just not possible. This kinda hit me out of nowhere, so if there are future inaccuracies or parts seem rushed that's probably why. The planning isn't complete.
> 
> This is my first time writing omegaverse and my third writing porn. I have no idea if I did anything right.
> 
> If you like the idea of organized crime and omegaverse, you should definitely read Anna_Jay's series, [The Chesapeake Mafia](http://archiveofourown.org/series/63734), if you haven't already. In fact, you should probably just read it again. It's so great.
> 
> [howishughdancyevenpossible](http://howishughdancyevenpossible.tumblr.com/) took the time to beta for me! Thank you for being so great all the time <3

~~~

 

            Time worked in such mysterious ways. Will knew logically that it was segmented, cleanly separated into hours, minutes, seconds that steadily trickled by. But that didn't mean it always felt that way. For example, just two hours ago he had been at a crime scene and now, here he was, face down on the bed as he finger-fucked himself for what felt like a small eternity.

 

            Will groaned into the pillow, concentrated solely on the feeling of his fingers pushing in and out of his sopping hole. The three of them were already buried in to the last knuckle and it still wasn't enough to ease the ache, only feeding into the fire burning in his veins. He wailed miserably, trying to go faster, deeper, and brushed against his prostate as much as he could. It wasn't what he needed even if it did make him cant his hips back and bear down against his hand.

 

            This heat was the worst yet. If he'd had one a month like a female omega instead of twice a year he would have gone insane. They had steadily grown stronger and stronger ever since he'd made the _mistake_. And it couldn't be seen as anything _but_ a mistake.

 

            Everything had begun simply enough. Jack called him in for another kill attributed to the Rippers. He was just going to do the reconstruction and leave. Alone with the body, a beta posed on his knees in a classic display of repentance even as his torso no longer connected at the waist, Will already knew that this had been done by the head of the Chesapeake Rippers, the artful arrangement giving it away. After taking in as many details as he could, he had stepped forward to begin. In a moment of pure clumsiness he tripped over a fallen branch and nearly slammed face-first into the body.

 

            The first scents to hit his nose were the smell of rich earth and decomposition, both overwhelming. But before he could push off of the ground and get back to his feet a fainter scent reached him. It was barely there, ghosting through the air so thinly that he almost missed it. But once he'd smelled it he couldn't stop himself from leaning in for more.

 

            Tones of spice and musk hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from his lungs. They wrapped around his head and swirled through his brain, ensuring that this scent would be seared into him permanently. No matter what he did or where he went it would follow him. His long ignored omegan side was screaming two words, over and over again.

 

            _True Mate_.

 

            At the memory a burst of heat suddenly spiked through him. Another gush of slick leaked out around his fingers to join the rest in dripping down his thighs. His fingers hadn't been enough before, but now he _needed_ , he desperately _craved_ something more. Sliding the probing digits out left him feeling unbearably empty, but he consoled himself with the fact that he wouldn't be empty for long. Will squirmed all the same as he reached to his bedside table, blindly fumbling in search of a favorite toy.

 

            The cool silicon of the knotting dildo met his fingertips. He snatched it up and brought it to his opening, greedily shoving it in all at once. Will screamed with pleasure, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes at the relief it provided. Rolling onto his back, he didn't bother to hold back his moans as he drove it in and out with quick, frantic motions of his wrist. Small gasps and broken curses poured from his lips as he allowed his eyes to slip closed.

 

            He had always had a vivid imagination and this was one of the few times he could feel truly grateful for it. A body slowly appeared beneath his lids, built up in bits and pieces. The first was a hairy chest with broad shoulders, sweat dripping down onto him from exertion. Long, muscular arms followed next and caged him in, straining as they held up a considerable weight. He could almost feel them burning where they touched his skin. Hips snapped in time with the movement of Will's hand and forced a thick alpha cock into him over and over again. The entire body was chiseled and sculpted, toned even more than most alphas were naturally. 

 

            After all, this was his True Mate. Not just _a_ Ripper, but _the_ Ripper. And Will knew better than anyone that he would have to be strong to do what he did. At first it had seemed impossible to accept that his perfect match was a serial killer and Boss of one of the nation's most notorious mobs. In fact, he still hadn't accepted it fully. But it was undeniable, especially when his very next heat after catching the scent had been filled with thoughts of the unknown alpha. His mind may have needed convincing, but his body had already decided that this was it. And it punished him more and more for lacking the alpha's presence with every year he denied it. Six heats and three long years later, he was ready to give in.

 

            The idea of spending a heat with a real alpha, _his_ alpha, had him biting his lips and increasing the pace. His fingers found a small switch and flipped it on. Gradually the knot at the dildo's base began to swell, making it harder and harder to move as it caught at his rim with every thrust. Eventually he couldn't tug it out and began rocking into it, trying to take it as deep as he possibly could before it wouldn't shift any further. The knot grew and pressed against his inner walls as they fluttered around it in an attempt to bring a real cock to orgasm. 

 

            Will was so close, still writhing and lightly twisting the dildo until it was forced against his prostate. He cried out, arching off of the sheets and picturing a mouth coming down to bite his neck. At that moment the knot finally reached its full size and completely stretched him open. Warm spurts of liquid shot into him and made him feel full and satisfied, at least temporarily. Still thinking of the mystery mate Will arched one last time and came with a heated cry. " _Al...pha!_ "

 

           The moment the stars stopped bursting in his vision he dropped like a stone and bounced against the mattress. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. Exhaustion had his lids drooping. With the knotting dildo firmly held in place and the aftershocks of his orgasm coursing through his veins his heat was far less demanding. It still called for his alpha, but it was quiet enough for him to be able to get a few hours of sleep before he was hit by the next wave. Another spurt of liquid further convinced his tired body to drift off to sleep and he was more than happy to comply. 

 

            This was hard on him, harder than it had to be. If his True Mate was here then he wouldn't have to feel so empty, like he had failed to catch his mate's attention. Will knew that it was stupid to feel that way, he didn't even know his alpha's _name_ , but well, biology was biology. He couldn't just ignore his omegan side's disappointment even if that was what he wanted more than anything. And the thought of a heat even worse than this one had him shuddering. One way or another something had to change. Maybe it was time for him to approach the problem directly.

 

            As his eyes slipped shut one last time, he could feel his limbs relaxing. A smile twisted his lips just before he sank into fitful dreams. While he didn't have an exact plan just yet, he knew this: the next time he had a heat, the Chesapeake Ripper would be at his side to help him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for going straight into porn, but it's what I had to do. No regrets. Next chapter should be more plot heavy though. Just bear with me.


	2. Prowl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, wow. This got a lot of attention really fast and I honestly didn't see that coming at all. I don't? Understand why?? There's barely anything here. :|
> 
> I've finished plotting out the main details for the whole thing and there'll be at least twenty chapters (but probably more) because I have no self restraint at all apparently. Hopefully I won't disappoint, but who knows? 
> 
> This chapter is ten times longer than I meant for it to be because ~~no self restraint~~ I didn't want to break it up. Mostly world building and getting the backstory done. Sorry. :/ I'm not really sure how I feel about it and it's unbeta-ed, so feedback is very welcome. 
> 
> I took the liberty of naming all of Will's dogs (aside from Winston and Buster, of course)! [This](http://qwertyprophecy.tumblr.com/post/54712761013/hannibal-annotated-will-grahams-dogs-wills) post has pictures of each and lists some guesses for the breeds. I love Will's dogs so much.

~~~

 

            The cold press of a chilled October breeze cut straight through Will's baggy sweater and pajama pants even after he had burrowed into a warm fleece blanket. Soft fabrics were the only textures he could stand rubbing against his sensitive skin during a heat, but now that the hormones were draining away he found himself missing the pleasantly rough feeling of running a palm over his jeans. He consoled himself with the thought that he'd be able to switch back to his preferred wardrobe soon enough and warded off the cold with a sip of black coffee. Around him the world was slowly waking, the first few bird calls shattering the thin silence of early morning. Watery sunlight breached the mist isolating his little farmhouse like a boat out at sea and painted long shadows of trees that stretched across his yard and reached for him menacingly. He'd been sitting like this for over an hour, huddled up in a tiny chair on his porch to watch the sunrise.

 

            There was a scrabble of claws on wood and then a nudging of his legs by a warm, fuzzy body. Will glanced down just in time to see Winston flop down on top of his feet, yawning before laying his head on his paws. He couldn't help but smile as he reached down to run his fingers through his fur and lazily scratch behind his ears, thoughts left adrift, making no real attempt to reign them in.

 

            The past six days had been exhausting. Between thoughts of the Ripper and breeding it was a miracle he'd managed to take care of the dogs or eat. Sleep was rare and left him feeling more tired than anything. His entire body ached and his head was pounding, making him feel the pain of lacking a mate even when the need to fuck had already dissipated. 

 

            Will knew that this was normal for omegas postheat, but he also knew that his case extended far beyond the normal boundaries. He could recall seven lengthy articles about the dangers of going without your True Mate just off the top of his head, and those didn't include the speeches he'd heard from countless doctors over the years. Never directed at _him_ of course. His doctor had no idea that he knew his True Mate's scent and never would, the thought of her stern disapproval and persistent scolding making his lips twitch with the beginnings of a frown. She would 'recommend' that he locate his mate immediately and would've been appalled by his willingful separation. It wasn't as though he could explain the circumstances either. _Well, while I would_ love _to bond with a sadistic, deadly mob Boss who devours human flesh, I don't actually know his name. Sorry._ Her imagined expression had him snickering.

 

            His laughter died as the mirth began to fade. That was the reality of his situation no matter how ridiculous it seemed. While it had been easy to ignore his misgivings in the middle of his heat, they had already reared back up to the forefront of his mind. Will wanted to believe that he was a good person, decent at the very least, but the years of loneliness were constantly chipping away at his resolve with eager claws and teeth. The cracks were gradually showing, his brain drafting a mental checklist of symptoms and ticking off more and more little boxes with every heat. Extensive research had led to the same conclusion no matter where he looked. His body and mind couldn't take this much longer. People had died from this. _He_ could die from this. And there was only one remedy. He just had to convince himself that it was alright to take.

 

            He was shaken from his thoughts by a quiet huff of air. A downward glance caught Winston nosing at his blanketed legs with a whine. Will stopped stroking his fur and leaned down further to pat his side a few times before shifting in his seat. Winston got the message and leapt up while he scooted to the edge of the cushion, stretching his stiff legs and hearing various joints pop. By the time he had gotten to his feet, leaving the blanket draped over his shoulders to cover his thin frame, Winston had pushed the screen door open and slipped back inside.

 

            Will followed him in, unsurprised to see that the other dogs were just now waking. He smiled at the pile fondly, watching Sammy's triangular ears twitch in her sleep while Jenna curled up against Nina's side, a tiny spot of white nestled against a mountain of brown. He stood there for a few moments, absorbing this tiny moment of peace. And then he headed to the kitchen, listening to the sound of several sets of paws jumping up and padding across the floor.

 

            Kibble rattled against the sides of their bowls and it wasn't long before seven hungry dogs were pushing past his legs to get to their food, Charlie nearly bowling him over. The sleepy group from before gained energy as they ate, coming over to nose at his palms once they were done. He crouched down, ignoring the painful twinge of protest at the sudden motion, and threaded his fingers through their fur, laughing as pink tongues flicked out to lap at his chin. 

 

            Will always felt bad for neglecting his dogs during heats. It used to be simple enough to find an hour or two to take a break and focus on them, letting them out to play or even joining them himself to work off his own pent up energy, but now that was just a distant memory. His body's ceaseless demands were making it difficult to take care of them beyond their most basic needs. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to manage it for his next heat and dreaded the thought of having to leave them with someone else. Having them around eased the mental ache of being alone when he should've been with his mate and made him feel a little less useless, but when it came down to it he knew he'd end up choosing his pack's comfort over his own any day.

 

            For now though, they were content to let him make up for lost time with gratuitous belly rubs. Finally he was satisfied that each one had received enough affection and stood, making his way to the door while his excited dogs shadowed him and wove around his legs. The moment the screen door was open they shot off like rockets, joyful yips rising into the crisp air. Will leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest, grinning at their gleeful doggy antics before tearing himself away.

 

            Now it was time to take care of himself. The first thing he did was make a new cup of coffee, the unfinished mug stone cold from his time outside. This time he didn't need it to shock his senses into alertness so he didn't hesitate to dump in the usual amount of sugar and cream. Peering out of the kitchen window to check on his dogs one more time, he wandered back out into the living room and sat the mug on his bedside table. Then he headed to his closet.

 

            The muscles of Will's back shrieked their displeasure as he hoisted up a large cardboard box even after he'd been careful to bend at the knee. Luckily it didn't take long for him to stumble back over to his bed and drop down onto it, cradling the box in his lap. He carefully set the lid to the side and took out the first of many folders, a sea of creamy manila bursting with documents. Even without opening it he knew what it contained.

 

            Piece by piece, Will laid out a timeline of sorts on the sheets of his bed. Some areas were thick stacks of paper with staples struggling to hold them all together, others were neat piles of photographs, and every now and then there were single sheets with barely anything printed on them at all. At some point Will had been forced to stand to make room for the sprawl. He stared down at the complex web just as he had countless times before, its contents already memorized long ago.

 

            Still, the full documentation of the Chesapeake Ripper was a lot to take in no matter how much he knew about it.

 

            Will had started his little collection the moment he learned the Ripper was his True Mate. Getting copies of the files had been comically easy, Jack mistaking his desperation to solve the case for righteous determination. At first he had used them as a reminder of why he needed to resist, to fight against his biology's siren call, but his plan had backfired. After seeing this so many times he had become almost desensitized, his disgust replaced by a sense of begrudging admiration for the meticulously crafted elegance of it all. Even now he was swept up in a wave of awe, reaching out to delicately trace the edge of the very first photograph.

 

            The Chesapeake Ripper had started out as a lone wolf, an unstoppable monster carving away slivers of Baltimore's flesh whenever he pleased. As a serial killer he was clever enough to leave haunting displays with a degree of care that had ensured him a starring role in Will's nightmares, yet never left any evidence behind. At this point Will had been 'invited' to work the case and quickly discovered that his supposed trophies were being eaten. The terror spiraled to all new heights.

 

            For years the Ripper had remained elusive and taunted the FBI, never breaking his cycle. Until he did. It was as though he had vanished into thin air. With no new leads appearing any time soon, the case had gone cold. There was speculation that the Ripper had finally come to a stop, but Will was more of a realist than that. It was far more likely that he was biding his time rather than slipping through their fingertips.

 

            A year and a half later, he was proven right. The Ripper was back, and this time he had friends. An empire had blossomed right beneath their noses and they'd had no idea until he'd wanted them to. There had been a brief attempt to keep things quiet but once the media had caught wind of the group's existence there was no going back. They were christened the Chesapeake Rippers and grew to be one of the most feared and respected mobs in the criminal underworld even as they were shrouded in secrecy.

 

            Frowning, he picked up one of the thicker packets and flicked through it, eyes scanning over the familiar words on each page. With most criminal organizations of this scale there was a good deal known about them. In this case they were lucky to know anything at all. Anyone interrogated about the Chesapeake Rippers, whether Rippers themselves or not, knew better than to squeal. And _everyone_ knew that if the Chesapeake Ripper found out they would _wish_ they were dead. Every single time they learned something new another mutilated body was found. Eventually the FBI stopped asking questions, knowing that the cost for more information was human lives and unwilling to make the trade.

 

            What little they had learned was, while interesting, mostly unsurprising. The large gang had ended up styling itself after an American mob, lacking the strictly Italian connections found in the American mafia though their structures were relatively the same. At the top was the Boss, in this case the Chesapeake Ripper. Then came the Underboss, second in command, and then the Consigliere, an advisor, but both positions were apparently held by the same person in the Rippers. Next there were Captains who were in charge of Soldiers. And finally there were Associates, those who worked for the mob without being members. These were harder to classify in the hierarchy, their positions mostly dependent on the services they provided, but they were never higher up than a Soldier.

 

            Will chewed his lip, examining a chart of the familiar structure. He had already decided that he and the Ripper were going to meet, but he still wasn't quite sure of how to do it. If he took the legal route and waited for him to be caught there would be all kinds of problems. For one, no one else knew they were True Mates. For another, by then he would probably be dead. So that was out.

 

            There was really only one option left. He obviously couldn't become a member so he would have to enter as an Associate. And he would need a way in. Will had to find something he could do that would be useful without being too eye-catching, and only then would he get an invitation. He would start at the bottom of the totem pole. All of the orders were issued down the chain of command, a source of frustration for the FBI that would also prove to be an obstacle for him. The Chesapeake Ripper's identity, unlike in a mafia, was completely unknown to law enforcement and he had no way of knowing whether that held true with the lower ranks of his mob. 

 

            Either way, he would need to get just close enough to test him. Will wasn't feeling too hopeful about this being the stereotypical 'match made in heaven' that True Mates were made out to be, and he had several firm standards that were absolute necessities. There was no question that this alpha would easily be the most dangerous person he would ever meet. The question wasn't whether he was dangerous to Will Graham, a potential threat in the form of an FBI Special Agent infiltrating his ranks, but whether he would pose a threat to his mate. He needed to know who the man behind the Chesapeake Ripper really was.

 

            If that man failed to meet his standards he wouldn't hesitate to make an arrest, consequences be damned. He would rather die than bond with an alpha who would disrespect and abuse him. His morals were already shaky things, but on this he refused to bend or give a single inch.

 

           The crinkling of paper made him realize he had bent the packet in his hands. He smoothed it out immediately, almost apologetically if he was being honest, and placed it back in its spot on the bed. After a few more seconds of staring, he began to clear everything away, carefully filing it all in order and checking that he hadn't missed anything before closing up the box and carrying it away. It was returned to its space on the floor of his closet where it would wait for the newest addition or the next time he needed to review it.

 

            Will headed back into the living room and caught sight of his abandoned mug, heaving a large sigh. Again he had wasted a good cup of coffee. Giving up on breakfast as a whole, he emptied it into the sink and sat it beside the one from earlier. He stepped out onto the porch and gave a sharp whistle, grinning as his dogs' heads snapped up before they raced back to the house. Somehow Rose won, her curly hair brushing his bare calf as she rushed inside. He took a quick head count. _Four, five, six..._ Buster scampered up the steps and over his feet. _...Seven._ The front door was shut and the house slowly filled with warmth again.

 

            Will had just finished showering when his cell phone started ringing. He stared at it, damp curls dripping onto the towel looped around his neck, and got the feeling he knew exactly who it would be. Sure enough, when he scooped it up the caller ID read _'Crawford'_. At any other time he might've found it too much to deal with and put it off for as long as he could, but Jack knew that he would still be suffering the symptoms of postheat and wouldn't have called if it wasn't something important. 

 

            With a long suffering sigh, he raised it to his ear. "Hello?"

 

            "Hey, Will. How are you feeling?"

 

            This time his sigh was one of relief. "Uh, about as well as I can be, I guess. Alana, why are you calling from Jack's phone?"

 

            "Jack didn't think you'd appreciate being yelled at right now." Which really meant that _she_ didn't think he'd appreciate it. He could practically see her side-eyeing Crawford with a frown on her face.

 

            Will pressed his back against the wall, one hand holding the phone while the other lifted the towel to his hair and ruffled it in a futile attempt to dry his curls. His lips tingled with the ghost of a smile. "I see. Well, please tell _Jack_ that he has my thanks." At her soft snort he let the smile spread over his face. But it slowly dimmed as he remembered the true purpose of this call. "Why does he have you calling me, by the way?"

 

            There was a heavy pause, then a gentle exhale through the receiver. "Same reason as always I suppose. There's a body he wants you to see."

 

            "Figures." Making a quick decision, he grabbed a dark pair of jeans and a navy blue flannel before heading back into the bathroom. "How did he manage to rope _you_ into this?"

 

            "Actually he didn't do much roping. More like I came on my own. I thought you might not want to be alone with an alpha so soon after your... heat..." Alana trailed off awkwardly. He couldn't blame her. While society at large knew about an omega's heats they still weren't openly acknowledged when one could avoid it, danced around even more than omegas' and beta women's periods. It was understandable that as a female beta a male omega's heat would seem strange or almost unnatural; even he felt that way sometimes.

 

            Most of the world's population were betas, followed by alphas, and then omegas. One third of alphas were female while one fourth of omegas were male, far from rare but still seen as uncommon. The hormonal balance naturally found in their counterparts with a matching first and second sex was different for them. Female alphas had lower testosterone levels and tended to be much more subtle in their dominance even though they were on the taller side for women and easily built muscle mass. Male omegas still retained a masculine, if lean, figure, but carried softer angles and were rarely capable of growing body hair anywhere other than the face. Will was just glad he could have a beard at all. A clean-shaven face always made him feel too open, too exposed, the soft skin and boyish looks seeming out of place and off when paired with the rest of him.

 

            Without thinking about it he had ended up eyeing the scruff on his reflection's jaw, rubbing over one of his cheeks. Will snapped himself out of it and turned away from the mirror, yanking the towel from around his neck and hanging it up where it belonged. "Thanks, Alana. I'm glad you'll be there."

 

            "Of course, Will. I'm not sure how much help I can be though. I know you're still in your postheat-" Her tone admirably masked her embarrassment. "-and I want you to know that you don't have to do this. Jack can always use another profiler. Don't push yourself if you're not up to it yet."

 

            From anyone else it would've been condescending, but he knew that Alana's worry was sincere. Until his unfortunate accident at the Ripper scene they had been mutually interested in a relationship, slowly circling each other and trying to get a sense for compatibility. Couples of all sexes existed so although a male omega and female beta could never have children their involvement wouldn't have seemed strange. True Mates were only found between alphas and omegas, but were so rare that they may as well have been the beta equivalent of a soulmate. Most didn't bother to try and sniff theirs out from an entire population, instead settling for the most compatible mate they could find and courting them. 

 

            Before he knew who his was Will had never even _wanted_ to find his True Mate. But once he had there was no way he and Alana could work out. He'd done some desperate and embarrassing things to try and hold onto what they'd had when he first found out but had only driven the point home. Eventually he gave up and their relationship shifted from one of a romantic nature to one of friendship, still holding the occasional note of awkwardness. Alana had never asked what happened but his sudden distance combined with heats of increasing intensity left only one conclusion. So she was probably the only one who knew just how bad his postheats could be.

 

            "I'm up to it, I promise. Just need a few minutes to get ready. Text me the address?"

 

            "...Okay, but... if it gets to be too much, don't hold it all in. You know you can talk to me, right?"

 

            "Yeah, I do." He was surprised to find he meant it. "Thanks again, Alana. See you soon."

 

            He hung up and set his phone on the counter, hearing it chime with a new message a few seconds later as he shed his t-shirt and boxer-briefs. Will ignored the various aches and pains associated with the motions of his morning routine. Fifteen minutes later he was slipping out the door with one hand unlocking his phone while the other clutched at his car keys.

 

            It was only once he'd started driving that he realized he hadn't asked for details. He tapped his thumb against the wheel, thoughts drifting as he waited in slow moving traffic. With Jack willing to call him in the _day_ after his heat, he knew that it wouldn't be just any case. The old alpha already thought that profiling was putting Will's health at risk. He cared about those kinds of things, even if it was a little hard to see sometimes. No, there was only one killer, or group of killers, that could get his hackles raised. 

 

            The Rippers must have struck again.

 

            The GPS on Will's phone calmly informed him that his destination was ahead and then he didn't need it anymore. After turning down a dirt road lined with towering old trees he just had to follow it to the distant flashing of police lights. Slowly pulling up next to one of the FBI vans, he cautiously parked and stepped out. Aside from various plainclothes members of the task force milling about he didn't see anyone civilian. The public didn't know about this one yet. Good. With high profile cases like this one involving organized crime, discretion was crucial, even more so for omegas as they tended to be targeted for threats more often. Outside of a select few trusted members of the FBI, no one knew he was working to track down the Ripper. They couldn't stop word of a new profiler from spreading, but his identity was unknown. To the world at large he was just an omega who spent his days teaching trainees. Some days Will wished that was the truth.

 

            He hadn't noticed them earlier, too busy staring past the nearby line of crime scene tape, but two local police officers had approached after he'd made it obvious that he wasn't going to leave. Their scents hit his nose, still overly sensitive, and made him stiffen. Alphas. And from the way their expressions had shifted from apologetic to cocky after smelling his own omegan scent he could tell that things were about to get annoying.

 

            The first one, a tall man wearing a disgustingly sweet smile, loomed over him. "Sorry, sweetie, but civilians can't be here right now. You're gonna have to leave."

 

            "Actually, I'm not a civilian. I'm a profiler here to examine the body. Now, if you'll excuse me..." Will tried to casually sidestep him only to be blocked by his burly partner who poked his chest with a fat finger and snickered when he stumbled back a bit.

 

            "I hope you've got proof because I'm not buying it. Wouldn't want to let an omega see something graphic, now would we? Gotta keep scary thoughts out of your pretty little heads." 

 

            He tried to pat his curls like he was an unreasonable child, but Will ducked away from him and reached into his pocket, eyes narrowing. He slipped out his badge, clearly stating that he was a special agent, and gave them both an icy smile. "Unfortunately you're a little too late. Omegas aren't as fragile as you think. I can handle whatever's at this scene, probably better than you can. Now get out of my way." He tucked the badge back into his jeans, tacking courtesy onto the end as an afterthought. "Please." 

 

            The first man bared his teeth, a flush crawling down his neck. "Now you listen here you little-" Pheromones of anger rolled off of him in waves.

 

            Ordinarily Will could handle things like that with ease, taking note of them but fully capable of ignoring the tiny little voice that whispered for him to appease the alpha and beg to be forgiven. But now that he was fresh out of his heat that tiny voice was screaming. It was all he could do to keep himself from shaking, instead crossing his arms over his chest and doing his best to look unimpressed even as his omegan instinct was to grovel at his feet.

 

            "Is there a problem here officer?" They all turned to find Alana standing to the side, her own arms crossed while her eyes gleamed with ferocity. As a female beta she had experienced her fair share of discrimination, but it tended to be more subtle, less in your face than it was for all omegas. She clearly held a position of authority here and the steel in her tone had the alpha clenching his teeth, but backing down.

 

            "No problem. Just trying to confirm that he's supposed to be here. It's always good to keep omegas safe, right?" He flashed her a charming smile, completely different from the one he'd given Will. A brief spike of envy for Alana's beta status lanced through him, gone as soon as it arrived. While being an omega wasn't always ideal he had learned to work with it. He just wished there were less sexist assholes like these in the world.

 

            Alana came to stand between Will and the alphas, her answering smile tight lipped and dismissive. If betas were capable of releasing pheromones he would bet anything that hers would've been intimidating. "Ah. While the gesture is... kind, Will doesn't need any saving at the moment. I can confirm that he's supposed to be here, so you can _safely_ let him through." With that she gestured for Will to go ahead, staring down the officers and daring them to try something. They didn't. But after he and Alana had ducked beneath the crime scene tape he heard a low murmur about an 'omega bitch'.

 

            They walked down the road in silence, pausing just before a small path when Alana cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, Will. I should've waited by the cars. It's a little late now, but do you want to wear a patch? It could help." She slipped a small white square, sealed like a band-aid and covered in the printed logo of some name brand pharmaceutical company, out of the pocket of her coat.

 

            "Yeah, thanks." Will nodded gratefully, knowing that she must've picked up on the hormones back there. While they wouldn't affect a beta very much they were still highly noticeable. He accepted it and opened it carefully, peeling off the adhesive backing and sticking it to the inside of his right wrist. It disappeared beneath the hem of his sleeve.

 

            Patches were a virtual godsend for people like him but could be used by all sexes. Originally invented by the military for covert operations, they completely masked one's scent, leaving them to smell like a scentless beta, by sending a mixture of chemicals through the skin that canceled out the biological orders responsible for producing pheromones. They also had the lovely side effect of muting pheromone receptors without eliminating them completely, meaning that responses to them were dimmed significantly. The closer they were to one of the areas where pheromones were released, generally the inner wrist, neck, and armpits, the better they worked.

 

            Even better, scent was the only aspect they changed, the rest of the body functioning normally. Omega suppressants were on the market, but they required a lot of paper work and a prescription and had to be taken daily. They would completely shut down some of the key functions of the body, not only muting their scent but also their heats and periods as well as most of their biological instincts. Their effects lasted longer as well, making the decision to take them more serious and weighty as they affected more aspects of an omega's life. Patches were preferable and far superior in his opinion. They were sold just like the band-aids they resembled, they wore off in about six hours, and they were cheap but effective. All suppressants seemed to do was make him sick. He'd tried taking them in the past back when he'd first joined the force in New Orleans, but every single side effect had presented itself within the first week. Although the break from discrimination had been nice it just wasn't worth it.

 

            That done, Alana led him down the path. They came to a stop a couple yards from a steep riverbank, Jack waiting for them patiently.

 

           "Will." He nodded, then hiked a thumb over his shoulder toward the water behind him. "Victim's a male beta, we're still working to ID him. A couple of joggers found him this morning. His body's in the same condition as the one from last week. I need to know why." Then he turned away and started walking.

 

            Will's brow furrowed as he followed silently, Alana hanging back. Last week's kill had been the Ripper's, but not in the way he was used to seeing. There were still missing organs and he had been able to feel the Ripper in his reconstruction, but it lacked the usual theatricality, discovered accidentally after a heavy rain had washed away a layer of soil on a similar riverbank. It read of a failed body dump, not an elegant tableau. Discovering another left like this without a purpose a mere week later was highly unlikely.

 

            They stopped a few yards from the bank's edge, standing over the partially buried corpse of a young man in a tattered suit. From what he could see beneath the dirt, his abdominal cavity had been hollowed out and several thin lacerations covered his upper torso and arms. It was exactly the same as the body from last week, straight down to the missing sections of earth. Were he to hold up a photograph he suspected he would have trouble spotting the differences. Will turned to Jack, struggling to hold his mind back as it tried to slip into the Ripper's perspective. "This posing is too precise, Jack. He'd have to have known every detail of the scene from the moment we found it. Gleaning bits of information from the media wouldn't have been enough, so..."

 

            Jack picked up where he left off with a grimace. "...He'd need our pictures of the crime scene. Someone leaked information to him." He turned to the side, massaging his forehead and giving a low growl. "Dammit! I was hoping it was just me. Are you _absolutely sure_ that there's no other way?"

 

            Will was glad he'd applied the patch when he did. Jack's irritation over his confirmed theory was making him slip, allowing a spike of pheromones to drip off of him that would've sent any postheat omega reeling. As it was Will's head just gave a dull throb. His wince seemed to remind Jack of his temporary sensitivity and he reigned himself in. Will was quick to take advantage and hurried to speak. "No, I'm not absolutely sure. But with this level of accuracy I can't imagine any other way. Last week wasn't his normal fair. We weren't supposed to find that body. I could see him doing a replica of an intentional display without reference but with something like this he obviously couldn't take that chance."

 

            Sighing resignedly, Jack faced him again. "Okay. So we've got a mole. That's not what I wanted to hear, but at least we can start doing something about it. Anything else I need to know?"

 

            "Not sure yet. I'll have to do my reconstruction first."

 

            He nodded. "I'll leave you to it. Tell me what you find when you finish."

 

            Will watched Jack's retreating back climb the slope and disappear over the curve. Now that he was alone he could truly take his surroundings. Around him the forest came alive, filling the brief silence with birdsong and the occasional rustle of leaves as squirrels skittered in the background. Water rushed by in a steady flow and washed against the shore. The smell of freshly dug soil still hung in the air, yet it had grown so faint that he wouldn't have thought anything of it under normal circumstances. He didn't bother trying to catch the Ripper's scent. In fact, outside of that one time he had never caught it again. The FBI had already sussed out that he concealed his scent with patches, but Will wondered if that was really the case. To leave behind such a tiny hint of pheromones he would've had to change a patch in the middle of his kill, and that just didn't seem right. Unless he'd made a mistake.

 

            Refocusing his thoughts, Will examined the beta one last time before letting his eyes drift closed. The golden pendulum swung beneath his lids, one, two, three times.

 

            _I know this man. He has disappointed me, and I make sure to let him know this. He is alive when I remove the organs. I inform him of his shortcomings as I cut into his skin, careful to follow the same pattern as I did once before. This is not meant to elevate him as my public displays are; rather I am shaming him, punishing him for his failures. When I lower him into the earth it is with the same degree of carelessness that he has shown. His grave is far too shallow. Even then I deliberately remove the upper layer until he is partially exhumed. Once I feel that his corpse matches that of the one in my reference photos I leave him to be discovered. This is my design._

Will slowly opened his eyes, mind reluctant to part with this intoxicating sense of calm. After discovering that the Chesapeake Ripper was his True Mate his murders had become easier and easier to read. Although he hated to think about it, his subconscious had decided to interpret these scenes as an opportunity to feel closer to his mate and felt thrilled when he walked in the Ripper's shoes. On a conscious level he couldn't help but feel grateful for this, at the very least because of the lack of nightmares that would've carried over from any other case. He carefully didn't consider that he might also like them for their grim artistry. "Jack, I'm done."

 

            Crawford reappeared over the slope and gestured for him to come. He trudged up the hill, knees groaning, and wished with annoyance that his postheat symptoms would fade. When he finally reached the top he had to school his features to mask the pain. Still, he could tell that Alana had noticed by her small frown. Before she could comment on it he launched into his explanation. "The victim was a Ripper who was being punished for something he did wrong. Judging by the mimicry of the other victim I would say that he was the one responsible for last week's unsuccessful body disposal. The Ripper must kill more often than we know, in a more private setting, and has someone eliminate the remains without alerting the public. Or, _had_ someone I guess." An idea was fluttering in the back of Will's brain, but as he fought to pull it forward Jack's loud voice chased it away.

 

            "So for all we know there are countless other bodies out there?! Why would he bother killing if he's not going to make a display?" He crossed his arms, glowering heavily.

 

            "I can't really say. I think it might have something to do with his surgical trophies, but for now I don't know." Of course he knew. Connecting to his mind at such an intimate level, it was impossible _not_ to know. The Chesapeake Ripper didn't take surgical trophies, he took _ingredients_. But while Will could acknowledge that in the safety of his mind he couldn't bear to say it out loud. His True Mate was a cannibal. And that was a lot less disturbing to him than it should've been. Letting everyone in on their little secret would cause more trouble than it was worth, and it wasn't like it would help them catch him, so Will hadn't planned on telling anyone. But now the FBI had stumbled upon his shopping list.

 

            "Well I _need_ to know. Maybe if you read the crime scene again-"

 

            "Jack." Alana's stern glare cut him off almost as thoroughly as her voice. "Will is obviously tired right now. I think he's done enough considering that he shouldn't have come in the first place, don't you?"

 

            Now that she'd said it he registered his body's weariness, took in the slump of his posture and straightened out under their combined scrutiny. "No, it's fine, I can probably-" Mentally cursing its timing, his mouth chose that moment to stretch open with a long yawn.

 

            "...I think Alana's right on this one. Go home, Will. I'll see you again on Monday." Even though he was clearly reluctant to say it, it held a note of finality. He wouldn't be changing his mind any time soon. Will wondered whether his sudden leniency had anything to do with the alpha's instinctive reaction to an omega in postheat. The thought was frustrating, but in this case he couldn't deny its usefulness. He just wanted to go home and wait for his body to settle back into normality. 

 

            Even though she didn't really need to, Alana took the lead as they walked back to his car. His eyes traced the path, giving him time to recall the fledgling thought from earlier. He finally grasped onto it and it immediately unfurled into something wonderful. The victim had been tasked with disposing of bodies. But he had failed and become one instead. That didn't mean that the Ripper would stop killing, it just meant that there was now a gap in the system, an inconvenience. He was so caught up in his planning that Alana had to clear her throat before he noticed that they'd stopped by the vehicles.

 

            "Alright Will, be careful on the way home. Call me if you need anything." Her eyes scanned his face, head tilted to the side with concern. "Are you sure you're okay?"

 

            Head still tangled in the web of his idea, he smiled at her reassuringly. "I'm fine." He was better than fine. He was exhilarated. The Rippers were down a man and a position in the ranks had just opened. He'd found a way in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the structural information from [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Mafia) and I'm using the depiction of a mob found [here](http://www.differencebetween.com/difference-between-mob-and-vs-mafia/). It's kind of a blend of both. I really don't know much about how large organized crime works here so I'm working my way through this. I know there'll probably be a lot of mistakes and if anyone finds some at any point and knows how to fix them, _please_ tell me. Also, if all of this info is annoying I'm sorry. I tend to go too far with world building.
> 
> On a side note, if you like science _and_ omegaverse, you should definitely read Della19's [A Functional Model of Real World Genetic Inheritance for Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1437214) because it uses Mendelian genetics and is beautiful. While it's not applied to this verse and there are differences, I did think it was a cool way to explain how all of it could work from a scientific standpoint.


	3. Necessity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this chapter took a lot longer to write than it should've. The next chapter kept trying to write itself in my head. It was annoying and distracting. This is shorter than the last one, mostly setup. Unbeta-ed. Again, not sure if I like it. :|

***

 

            The final notes of an aria cut through the air, the singer's high soprano wavering delicately in vibrato. Though the music had been intentionally reduced to background noise, just loud enough to be heard without affecting his concentration, it still bounced back from where it was flung against the walls in a decidedly pleasant way. Acoustics were only a minor reason for his selection of this room but were greatly appreciated all the same. Even more so when they remained after soundproofing.

 

            Hannibal stood in front of a fresh set of lungs, sleeves carefully rolled up to the elbow and white apron tied around his waist, and focused on the task of pressing out the last few traces of water. His sure hands worked the meat, bruising them until he was satisfied and leaned away. Taking a knife in hand, he meticulously trimmed off the tracheal tubes and sliced one lung into one inch cubes, the other being packaged and sealed before ending up in his fridge.

 

            Now he turned to an overhead cabinet, pulling down a large frying pan. It wasn't hard to find, not only because of how all of his cookware was neatly organized, but also due to the limited amount of cookware to choose from. This room's kitchen was vastly inferior to the one in his home, but it served its simpler purposes well enough and was hardly the main reason he was there. In fact, he wouldn't have been using it at all if not for a certain guest he was expecting. He would hate for her to leave hungry after all.

 

            With this in mind, he returned to his preparation of Lung and Loin Bourguignonne, its steps as familiar to him as those of a dance. He began with the sauce, shallots, bacon, and flour forming a roux that browned nicely in the pan. Adding in two cups of merlot, then two cups of stock, he whisked until the sauce thickened and smoothed. That done, the pan was set aside.

 

            Again Hannibal turned to the cabinet, this time removing a sauté pan. He poured in a small amount of olive oil before turning to his other cuts of meat. The loin was promptly seasoned with salt and pepper before being lowered into the pan, a wonderful aroma wafting up to his nose. Once the pink at their center had darkened to his liking he lifted them out and moved them to a plate by the frying pan holding the sauce. The sauté pan was wiped down and more olive oil took its predecessor's place. Finally he browned the lung, stirring patiently until it was done. It was also placed on a nearby plate.

 

            With the meat portion of his meal safely out of the way he turned his attention to the mushrooms, sautéing them in olive oil as well. Then he reheated the sauce, bringing it to a boil, and added the meat back in along with pearl onions, carrots, and the mushrooms he'd just made. By now the scent was heavenly, his mouth watering in anticipation. He turned off the burner and began plating. 

 

            He had just finished placing the final touches when there was a quiet knock at the door. Hannibal quickly untied his apron and rolled his sleeves down, his polite smile already in place by the time he turned the knob. It dimmed slightly when he found two people on the other side instead of one. "Dr. Du Maurier." He nodded to her respectfully before fixing his gaze on his unexpected guest. "And Miss Lounds. What a pleasant surprise. Please, come in." Hannibal stepped back, gesturing for them to enter.

 

            Bedelia's expression was one of cool amusement as she took everything in, already well used to his... unusual hobbies. Her minty alpha scent never changed even as she took a seat in front of her place setting at the table. He greatly admired her grace as she did, delicately crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap after smoothing down her pencil skirt. "Thank you for inviting me, Hannibal. I'm sure whatever you've prepared for us will be amazing."

 

            Closing the door, he came around to silently hold out a hand to Freddie, masking the smile threatening to curl his lips as he noted the fiery omega's wide eyes. "Lung and Loin Bourguignonne. My apologies, Miss Lounds. Had I known you were coming I would have made a plate for you as well. May I take your coat?"

 

            Freddie smiled bravely, but her scent gave away her faint disgust and fear. She'd picked up on his displeasure with her sudden appearance and the room's current furnishings weren't doing anything to help. "Oh, no thank you, I'd rather keep it on. I get cold easily, even for an omega."

 

            "Ah, I had forgotten. Again I must apologize. Could I offer you a warm meal instead?" At this point Hannibal took his seat across from Bedelia, taking up his fork only to leave it hovering above a piece of lung. His voice made the offer seem genuine, but they all knew she would refuse. Still, it was only polite.

 

            She swallowed dryly, eyes flitting down to their full plates. The smell of disgust sharpened even as she wore a charming smile. "While I... appreciate the offer, I'm a vegetarian. Besides, I won't be here long." Her hands slipped into her pockets, relaxed body language at odds with her obvious stress. She had straightened out as much as she could, putting up a false front of being unintimidated. 

 

            It was something he liked about her. Freddie was aggressive in her own right, unafraid to use her omegan status as a weapon rather than a weakness. She knew who had information and how to get it. If they made the mistake of underestimating her she would use that too. Everything about her reminded him of a fox, sly and cunning, fully capable of picking off the hens right out from under the farmer's nose. But she also knew how to recognize a bigger predator. It was thanks to her strong survival instinct that she had lasted this long. Though she'd been quite rude in the beginning, she had quickly learned what he would and would not tolerate. As an Associate she'd proven useful and could be afforded leniency. Allowances could be made for those who didn't yet know him well enough.

 

            Bedelia scented her merlot before taking a small sip, drawing their attention without needing words. "I found Freddie asking to see you downstairs. She claims to have information on the FBI's handling of the Ripper case."

 

            Suddenly Freddie's presence was of greater importance than he'd thought. He glanced to her and tipped his head to the side, inviting her to speak.

 

            She took the opportunity, hands clasped at her front. "Your two latest Ripper kills were different from the others-" As his eyes darkened at the memory of his subordinate's incompetency, she hurried to move on. "-And the FBI has taken note of that. They were able to keep the public away from both scenes, so I couldn't get very close. But I saw a profiler at the second one who I'd never seen before. He was talking with Jack Crawford and Alana Bloom and seemed familiar with both. An informant of mine tells me he's been on the case the whole time."

 

            That caught his attention. Watching as he swirled his wine glass, his voice lowered to a murmur. "Why would the FBI go to such lengths to hide his presence? If Agent Crawford has taken him under his wing, then..." Setting down the glass, he faced her. "What else do you know about him?"

 

            Freddie grimaced, tightening her fingers where they were locked together. "Not much. I know that there's something special about him, something special enough for the FBI to want to hide him from us. Or, from you. I can describe him physically, but I didn't get many details."

 

            After brief consideration, he declined. "No, that won't be necessary. I _would_ like to see pictures if possible. Please try to take some next time."

 

            "Of course, Dr. Lecter. Thank you for your time."

 

            Hannibal rose to open the door, his polite smile returning as she slipped past him, eager to get away but struggling not to show it. "Thank _you_ , Miss Lounds, for coming by with such interesting information. Have a nice evening." The door was closed and she was gone.

 

            He reclaimed his seat at the table, Bedelia watching him all the while. Once he'd settled she took up her knife and fork and cut into a piece of lung, eyes focused on her hands even as she started to speak. "So, Hannibal. What do you propose we do in this situation?" Her lips wrapped around the tines of her fork. She smiled at the taste.

 

            Pleased with her response, he cut off his own piece. The flavors were savored as the bite touched his tongue, tastebuds singing their praises. Only after he'd swallowed did he reply. "I am not sure that we can do anything at this point. There is not much to work with. As my Underboss and Consigliere, what course of action would _you_ recommend?" His tone was lightly teasing, the reminder of her status unnecessary.

 

            "I would have to agree with you." She took a delicate sip of wine, eyes meeting his over the rim of her glass. "...There are other matters to attend to at the moment. Why did you ask me to come?"

 

            "One reason is financial, the other territorial. I will give you the liberty of choosing which to discuss first." He paused, eyes crinkling at the corners. "And of course, I do love having friends for dinner."

 

            Bedelia's narrowed in response and she scoffed gently. "What you _seem_ to love is having an audience for your puns. It's a miracle that no one has noticed." She ignored his flash of amusement with her candor, patting her mouth with her napkin as she considered her options. "Let's begin with the financial business."

 

            "Very well." He bit into a mushroom, unhurried. "I have recently been contacted by an envoy for an organization in Mexico. They have a proposition for us."

 

            "A proposition." She arched a brow, otherwise giving nothing away.

 

            "Yes. We are to smuggle a large cache of guns across the border to them for roughly eight million dollars." He tried a piece of the loin this time. It was exquisite.

 

            Blinking slowly, Bedelia uncrossed and recrossed her legs. "I see. And do you intend to do it?"

 

            "I have yet to decide, which is why I've brought the issue to your attention. As you know, we are fully capable of doing this. They have already built up a store of weapons. Once we've been given their location it would not be difficult to send them on their way."

 

            "So then why do you need my opinion?"

 

            "I am... unsure of whether or not to get involved with them. Should we accept I fear they will attempt to contact us the next time they need such a thing, and I have no intention of providing my services whenever they want them. We are not in need of money either."

 

            "Even if we don't need the money now, we could still benefit from it." Her tone was thoughtful, a small frown turning down the corners of her lips. "And I highly doubt you would allow them to push you into doing something you didn't want to."

 

            Smiling, he dipped his head in acknowledgement. "All true. For now, I will continue to think it over. As for territory-" His fork speared the last piece of food on his plate, a carrot. "-There have been... encroachments. A small gang, the WarHawks, has been growing in Baltimore and believes it to be a good idea to challenge the Chesapeake Rippers to a turf war." His smile grew vicious. "Little do they know that they are challenging the Ripper more directly than they think."

 

            Bedelia's smile, though less violent, was just as chilling as his own. "And they can't get away with that, now can they?"

 

            Scooting back his chair, Hannibal rose to clear away their empty plates, carrying them into the kitchen. Again he rolled up his sleeves, turning on the water in the sink and soaping up them and the utensils he had used for cooking. "Oh no, certainly not. In fact, I have already begun to gather information. This has been a highly productive evening."

 

            Bedelia leaned a hip against the fridge, careful to stay out of his way as she cradled her unfinished glass in one hand. "I suppose that would explain the body." She gave a pointed look out over the counter.

 

            While one half of the room was filled by the small table and kitchenette, the other was decidedly less innocent. Dark hard wood flooring gave way to black marble, gradually sloping down from every direction to a drain in the center. The walls remained the same throughout, a light shade of innocuous slate gray; one would never think they might be soundproof. Along the back wall hung neat rows of implements, all gleaming wickedly in the low light. They ranged from sharp to blunt, from straight to jagged, from cold metal to coarse rope, nearly anything he could possibly need. Over the drain was a long steel table, the kind one would expect to see in a morgue or to be used for autopsies. They wouldn't have been too far off the mark; it was currently occupied.

 

            "Hmm, I suppose it would. It didn't take long for Mr. Anthony to 'sing', so to speak, so I did not feel the need to prolong his suffering." Shutting of the water, he plucked a towel from where it hung and began drying.

 

            Shifting slightly to the side as he'd reached for the towel, she resettled comfortably. "Could I also safely assume that he was the source of our meat?"

 

            Hannibal paused in his cleaning and looked over with raised brows and a tiny smirk. "Bedelia, my dear, what good is it to ask a question you know the answer to?"

 

            Finished with her beverage, she crossed the room and set the empty glass in the sink deliberately, knowing that he'd just stopped washing just as surely as she knew she could get away with doing it. "Fair enough. What will be done with the rest of him now that you've 'fired' Mr. Reeves?"

 

            He frowned, setting the towel to the side, and turned the water back on without complaint. "What I usually do with them, though it has been a while since I've needed to."

 

            "Yes, and with good reason. You are the head of a vast criminal empire." She shot him a look. "And therefore far to busy too be cleaning up your messes when you don't need to be."

 

            "Perhaps you are right. It might be nice to have someone to clear away these little things. I do not always take from them either. If I did, my fridge would be overflowing."

 

            The last part of his admission went uncommented. Bedelia glided back to her spot by the fridge in question, heels clicking. "Good, because I have an idea of someone suitable for it."

 

            This time he was truly done wiping down his cookware. Each was swiftly returned to its rightful place. The sleeves of his dress shirt were lowered to cover his wrists as he stared at her meaningfully. "Oh? That fast? One would think you had begun searching without me."

 

            "He's been mentioned by a few of the Soldiers. I would say his appearance was timed rather _conveniently_ , wouldn't you?" She crossed her arms loosely, meeting his gaze with her own. "If I didn't know any better I might even argue suspiciously."

 

            His eyes lit up with intrigue. " _Ah,_ I see. Well in that case, we'll have to find out just how _convenient_ he can be." Hannibal turned away from Bedelia's satisfied smile, approaching the body. He wondered where this game of theirs would lead. One way or another, he suspected it would be entertaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually got the recipe used here directly from the show! Janice Poon's blog walked me through how to make [Lung and Loin Bourguignonne](http://janicepoonart.blogspot.com/2013/04/i-was-having-bit-of-trouble-with-re.html). There's also a recipe for liver. If there's anything wrong with the way Hannibal is cooking this, it's definitely my fault. I don't know how to cook. 
> 
> Anyway, here's some [cool stuff](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boss_\(crime\)) about mob Bosses. There's also information about Underbosses and the other positions.
> 
> Will and Hannibal meet in the next chapter, I promise!


	4. Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, let me just start off by saying that I now know more than I ever needed to about how to hide/dispose of bodies and I _really_ hope the government never has to look at my internet history. People get very scientific, detailed, and... _creative_. I actually ended up with a list of around 12 methods that Will could easily use, and that was with me ignoring some options. The internet is a scary place.
> 
> Aaaaanyway, I'm sorry about how long this is. It is literally as long as some of my completed fics if not longer. Whenever I write Will's chapters they tend to grow into monsters like this. Not entirely sure how to fix it...? I've actually split what was going to be one chapter into two, mainly because if I didn't it would be ridiculously long in my opinion (it more than _doubles_ this fic. I must be stopped) and I didn't want to post this chapter without fulfilling my promise from before. Thanks for putting up with me I guess. :(

~~~

 

            It was happening again.

 

            Cloven hooves tapped against marble floors, their even rhythm doing nothing to calm his sudden spike of anxiety. Will could feel himself slipping away from the present as he listened to the distant sound and tried to fight his way back, but he might as well have been doing nothing for all the good it did. His lashes fluttered and he could feel a bead of sweat threatening to run down his face and trickle over his jaw. Blink. Jack and Beverly were studying the body of Jordan Reeves, speaking in tired, hushed tones while Brian and Jimmy worked in the background. Blink. The room was empty and he was alone.

 

            It was always so cold down in the morgue. There was a perpetual chill in the air that only served to remind of the dead, of cold, stiff flesh that would never warm of natural causes again. He hadn't liked it at first, but with every visit it became more and more tolerable. Eventually it had gotten to where he didn't notice it at all. Until now.

 

            A prickling sensation marched along his spine, its icy fingers leaving goose bumps on his bare arms and making his hair stand on end. His breaths were suspended in front of him in white clouds of mist, here and gone. Some tiny part of his brain was still holding onto logic. He knew for a fact that this sudden shift in temperature alone was wrong, but it was hard to focus when he was watching a dead man sit up.

 

            Jordan Reeves was no longer among the living and yet that didn't seem to stop him. Will was frozen in place as he moved, the hollow cavity of his chest glaringly obvious under the harsh fluorescent lights. Milky eyes snapped open and met his own. A pale arm jerkily rose to jab an accusing finger at him. With blue lips, Jordan mouthed something over and over again, his shoulders rising with nonexistent inhales. At first Will was confused. But as the rasping voice steadily grew the picture clicked into place. What he'd taken for a lack of motor control was actually a frantic motion. That finger was pointing behind him. He realized that he couldn't hear the hoof beats anymore just as he found he _could_ hear Jordan's warning. " _Beware._ "

 

            A single quick, hot puff of air hit the back of his neck, dampening his curls and plastering them against his moist skin. Even without turning he knew what was behind him. He couldn't look even if he'd wanted to, his eyes glued to Jordan as he chanted that one word. The lights weren't moving, they definitely weren't, but the room's shadows were stretching toward the opposite wall. There was Jordan's, quickly swallowed, and then his own. Towering antlers rose on either side of his head, impossibly sharp and long. His heart lurched dangerously in his chest. The Stag. Oh god, the Stag was behind him and he couldn't _run_ , couldn't do anything at _all-_

            "Will?"

 

            Another blink and the Stag was gone. Jordan Reeves remained, just a corpse being autopsied in a morgue. And everyone was staring at him, Beverly's head tilted to the side in a way that made him wonder if this was the first time she'd called. "You in there somewhere?"

 

            Sliding off his glasses, Will pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore the pressure building behind his eyes. "I'm here."

 

            "Hey man, you feeling okay?" Brian's hands were still on the knobs of the microscope, his tone caught somewhere between caution and concern. It was faint, but he could smell a burst of calming pheromones released more by instinct than any worry or forethought. If he'd managed to draw this kind of response from the usually caustic omega then he must've been out of it for longer than he thought.

 

            Resettling his glasses on his face, he flashed a weak smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired." His words fell flat, unconvincing even to his ears. But other than a few pointedly exchanged glances no one commented. He was grateful. There wasn't an acceptable explanation for him to give.

 

            Shortly after his third heat without his mate, the first few symptoms of their separation began to show. It had been vaguely annoying things for the most part, migraines out of nowhere, longer postheats, a mild fever that never seemed to fade. Nothing he couldn't handle or sweep under the rug.

 

            And then the hallucinations started.

 

            Will had been standing at the sink, sipping coffee from a blue mug with a chip in the handle that was strangely soothing where it always rubbed against his thumb. He'd watched Rose playfully nip at Charlie's paws with one hip propped against the counter, smiling over the rim of his cup. And then something had shifted and time seemed to have slowed or come to a stop. Without understanding why, he'd been driven to look outside, his head snapping to the right even as his mind told it no.

 

            He'd expected to find an empty yard. Instead he'd found a massive pitch black stag mere inches from the window. Its eyes were far too intelligent when they met his own and he was filled with an eerie sense of wrong. He had the cloying feeling that it knew him, shivers dancing down his spine when it rose to its full height and stepped away. An impressive rack of antlers gleamed wickedly in the afternoon sun, feathers mixed in with its pelt ruffling in an unfelt breeze. Even as it interacted with the elements it was alienated. It clearly didn't belong. 

 

            For a long moment there was silence. Neither had looked away and Will's breath was trapped in his lungs. It just stood there, impossible and unyielding, completely out of his control. And then the stag tipped back its head and bellowed.

 

            Starting, he let the mug slip through his fingertips and shatter on the ground. The sound of breaking ceramic was enough for him to tear his eyes away, heart pounding as his fight or flight reflex finally decided to kick in. Spilt coffee puddled on the floor and soaked into his socks, shards of blue forming tiny islands in the murky brown. Both dogs were now whining with concern. He took a moment to shush them and gripped the counter until the ridge pressed against his palm so hard it hurt. Better than seeing his hands shake. By the time he had gathered himself enough to look out, the stag was gone. A sour taste had taken residence in his mouth. He still hadn't replaced his favorite mug.

 

            Since then the stag had become a constant whenever he lost touch with reality. The roles it played in his hallucinations ranged from large to small, but it was guaranteed to make an appearance. He understood that it wasn't real, living only in the deep recesses of his mind, but that didn't make it any less terrifying. The thought of it alone was enough to flood his veins with a mixture of adrenaline and dread. Even worse, the hallucinations were getting longer and more detailed as time went on. Sources of medical knowledge agreed unanimously; that was not a good sign for his health. They also agreed that they were worsened by hormone fluctuations and prolonged exposure to stress. 

 

            He was on his period and hadn't gotten more than three hours of sleep a night in over a week. At this point he was just glad to be 'here' at all.

 

            "Well I hope you've woken up." Jack was completely focused on him for the first time that day. "Will, I need you working on this. We've got to _get_ something on him." Who the 'he' was went unspoken. It didn't need to be said. Abruptly turning back to Beverly, he crossed his arms with a heavy scowl. "What are we missing?"

 

            "We haven't missed anything, there just isn't much to find." She gestured down to the body, occasionally pointing as she went over everything again. "The cuts are surgically precise and made with a thin blade, most likely a scalpel. His organs were removed while he was still alive. Same with the lacerations on his arms. He ultimately died from a combination of blood loss and shock, just like the other vic. Their wounds were almost identical, from the positioning to the timing to the angle of the cuts."

 

            "These cuts were deeper though, at least in certain areas." Glancing up from his own microscope, Jimmy nodded to Reeves' upper arms. "They would've accelerated the bleeding. Maybe he wanted him to die faster than before?"

 

            Brian snorted, not bothering to look over as he waved the thought away. "Or maybe this guy pissed him off more than the other one."

 

            "Even if he was bleeding more it wouldn't have been enough to affect his plans. The Ripper is intelligent and meticulous, and with his background in medicine he would know how much blood he could afford to lose before going unconscious." Slouching against the wall, Will shoved his hands into his pockets and chose to keep his eyes on the floor. "His killings are more rational than emotional. The deeper cuts were to punish him for his failures."

 

            "So this is, what, his way of firing him?" Brian's eyebrows had shot up incredulously.

 

            It didn't help when Jimmy chimed in. "His version of a pink slip." Eyeing his arms again, he shrugged. "Well, less pink, more red..."

 

            "Can we stay focused?!" Jack growled and ran a hand over his face, sighing loudly. "There's got to be something else."

 

            "I'm sorry, Jack, but it's been three weeks and we've looked over the scene from top to bottom." Scratching her head, Beverly frowned down at the autopsy table. "If there was any more evidence we would've found it by now."

 

            Hearing her say it didn't seem to help any of them, a heavy blanket of tension covering the room. Jack's stress was particularly obvious as he started pacing, sharp waves of his agitated scent overpowering the others', even Beverly's. Will was just glad he was wearing a patch. He had been using them constantly ever since he'd done his initial profiling. At first he'd gotten some odd looks from his colleagues and students, but whenever he was asked about it he would just tell them that he'd been around a lot of unhappy alphas lately and that would be it. It wasn't a lie, not really. Not having to deal with his body's natural responses to everyone's scent was a huge relief, especially when those responses were intensified by his empathy. 

 

            But that wasn't his main concern at the moment. Aside from his pheromones and the smoothness of his skin, he didn't tend to match up to society's idea of what an omega should be, not even for male omegas. Physically he was more masculine, lacking the subtle curves and overall roundness of other members of his gender. Omegas weren't suited to building muscle, having been designed to depend on their mates for protection, but Will just worked harder to counter this. A majority of it had been during his days as a cop in New Orleans, back when that kind of strength had been a requirement, and he could still remember the long hours he'd put in at the gym. Now he was more focused on maintenance, doing workouts at home or jogging through the fields and forest. While he would never have an alpha or beta's bulk he was definitely toned. 

 

            His personality didn't fit the stereotype either. He'd never particularly wanted children, finding that his pack was all he needed in a family, and while the thought of a mate was nice at times he didn't like the idea of losing his independence. The desire to nurture others and a craving for social interaction had never developed in him. Will cared about the feelings of those around him, but wasn't as instinctually attuned to their wants or needs and didn't feel obligated to fulfill them even then. So when he wore patches and masked his scent completely, he didn't seem like an omega. Everything about him screamed beta and he was taking full advantage of it.

 

            Jack's shoes stopped in his line of sight before turning to face him. "Go through your reconstruction again."

 

            Blinking slowly, he hunched down even further. "...The Ripper started by making the cuts on his arms, making sure he would feel them and building up to the worst of the pain. He cut him open while he was alive and would've explained why he was doing it as he did. Dumping the body like this was his way of making a statement. He was mocking the victim by emphasizing his mistake, replicating it-"

 

            "How'd he do that, by the way?" They all turned to Beverly, the alpha's eyes shining with interest. "I saw the photos of both scenes and everything was exactly the same, right down to the placement of the dirt. I get that he could've made the grave too shallow, but that kind of accuracy can't be a coincidence."

 

            Their attention shifted back to him, but it was Jack who finally cleared his throat. "None of what I'm about to tell you leaves this room." He glared at each of them, waiting for them to nod before slowly continuing. "...We think that someone here gave him our photos to use as a reference."

 

            Gasping quietly, Jimmy covered his mouth. "You mean we've got-"

 

            "-A _mole?!_ " Brian's hands flew up as he finished the sentence, his shout echoing where it bounced off the tiles.

 

            He absolutely wilted under Beverly's piercing gaze. "Why don't you say that a little louder, they might not have heard it upstairs."

 

            His arms fell to his sides. "Sorry..."

 

            Accepting his muttered apology, she turned to Jack and tapped her nails against the steel table's edge. "...Do we know who it is?"

 

            He grimaced and shook his head. "Not yet. But the number of people with direct access to those photos is small, so it's a pretty short list."

 

            "How could somebody do that, team up with someone like the Ripper?" Jimmy frowned at the body, clearly distressed even if there was no accompanying scent. "Who _does_ that kind of thing?"

 

            "I don't know." Walking to the door, Jack paused to glance back over his shoulder. "But I'm going to find out. Will, come with me." He left without waiting for him to follow.

 

            Pushing off of the wall, he nodded to the others before slipping out into the empty hallway. Jack was already ahead and he had to half-jog to catch up before falling into step. "Where are we going?"

 

            "I'm going to my office and you're going home."

 

            He froze mid step, staring as Jack continued without him before picking up again. "Jack, what are you talking about? I can still-"

 

            "No, you _can't_. Over the past three weeks you've put in so many hours of overtime that I've lost count, and that's _without_ including what you're doing on your own."

 

            They finally reached the exit, their stark reflections on the glass doors making it difficult to see the dimly lit parking lot beyond. Will stubbornly refused to leave, rooted to the spot as he crossed his arms. "How do you know that I'm doing _anything_ on my own?"

 

            Arching a brow, Jack widened his stance and scoffed. "Will, you've been even more tired than usual. Those rings under your eyes are hard to miss."

 

            He resisted the urge to rub at them, shoulders curling inward self-consciously. "...That doesn't mean I've been working on the case..."

 

            The toe of Jack's shoe thumped an uneven beat onto the floor. "I know for a fact that you keep copies of every file we have on the Chesapeake Rippers. I also know that you've gotten a copy of this one. Add that to your lack of sleep and I've got a solid picture of what's going on." He stopped, his expression serious. "You want to catch the Ripper as bad as I do, but I'm not going to let you break yourself to do it. We both know that I push you too hard so when I stop pushing so should you. Go home, Will." With that dismissal he turned on his heel and went back down the hallway.

 

            Guilt rolled through him and settled low in his gut. It refused to leave even when he got into his car and drove away, digging its claws in with determination. Jack's words were circling through his head. _You want to catch the Ripper as bad as I do_. He wasn't wrong, but Will wanted to catch him in another way. And he _had_ been working toward that goal, but not through files, at least, not anymore.

 

            When he'd realized that he had been given an opportunity, he'd reached the adamant decision to use it. Having his box of files had made things easier than they could've been. Will had combed through them all and picked out confirmed members of the Rippers in the area, his list of names around four pages long. From there he narrowed it down to Soldiers, then to those active within the last four months, and finally to the members who did mostly grunt work. These were the low men on the totem pole, the ones who either ran the mob's 'errands' or tied up loose ends. In terms of danger they would pose the least threat should his offer not be warmly received. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he knew it would be.

 

            Working first as a cop and then as a profiler, Will had seen his fair share of bodies and crime scenes. Even better, he knew what people like him looked for and where they would find it, not to mention what they could do with the slightest bit of evidence. Convincing the first Soldier he'd approached had taken some time, but eventually he was able to do it. With the beta practically breathing down his neck he had picked his way through the crime scene, finding any and all things that could tie her to it and effectively removing them. That's not to say that it looked like nothing had happened. The unlucky alpha had been shot in the chest. Most of the blood had ended up in his lungs, but there was still a large puddle of it on the concrete. A few of the woman's hairs had fallen into it and had to be plucked out of the congealing mass. Her gun had already been taken care of essentially, the handle wiped down and free of tissue or prints. That left the body.

 

            He'd come prepared, and it didn't take long for him to spread out a light blue tarp next to the rapidly cooling corpse. Moving him onto it had been harder, the man easily weighing around two hundred pounds and most of it muscle, but he did it. After carefully folding the tarp around him and hoisting him back over and into his car, he gave the woman the number to a burner phone he'd bought to keep in contact with any Rippers in need of his services. She'd given him two thousand dollars in cash. Then he'd slid into the driver's seat and drove away.

 

            One of the nicest things about living in Wolf Trap was the isolation. He was far enough from the city to dissuade any would-be visitors but close enough to make his daily commute manageable. The houses out here were scattered, his nearest neighbors easily a mile away. Still, they'd interacted from time to time and he knew some of them by name, like the old couple he sometimes asked to take care of his dogs when his job called him away. More importantly, he knew what most of them did.

 

            The Mackenzies lived a little further from him than the others, mostly because they needed the space. They owned a large farm with vast fields of wheat, their farmhouse joined by a barn and stable. As Will slowly crunched up the gravel drive the moonlight made them into ominous things. Silvery stalks gently swayed together in the light breeze, their faint rustling filling the silence once his engine cut off. The dashboard clock read two seventeen AM. Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie were known for being punctual, always waking at five thirty and going to bed at eleven. They would be asleep now, but even then he did his best to keep quiet as he opened the door and came around to the trunk. He didn't bother to close either of them, his car's interior light spilling out into the dark and making him wince before his eyes adjusted. Things were as he'd left them, the dead alpha securely wrapped in the tarp. A small black bag was tucked in with him. Will ducked his head through the strap before lifting the corpse in a fireman's carry and heading for the barn.

 

            Ignoring the double doors leading inside, he rounded the corner and came to a stop by a low wooden fence. Already he could hear a few snorts of interest, but he ignored those too as he bent at the knee and put the alpha down. The bag was slipped off and set by his feet. Unzipping it, he took out scissors, pliers, a battery powered electric razor, and a long pair of tweezers. 

 

            Will untucked the tarp and flattened it out, the man inside looking deathly pale under the full moon. His grey shirt had gone crimson around the wound seeping blood onto his chest, his back probably soaked with it by now. Scissors in hand, he cut it and the man's pants and underwear off before setting them to the side. His shoes and socks joined them soon after. The scissors were left on top of the pile in favor of the tweezers. Will was admittedly lacking in medical knowledge, but he didn't need any to fish around in the entry wound and pull out the bullet. Still, it was harder than expected, forcing him to wiggle and pry before it finally came loose with a pop. The metal shone wetly even in the low light, held between the tweezers' tips like a gruesome prize. For a moment he hesitated, not quite sure what to do with it, before reaching for the black bag and taking out a small plastic baggie to drop it into. Knowing what he had to do next, he left it out.

 

            The pliers were taken up in one hand while the other held the man's jaw open. He removed each tooth, grimacing as blood welled up more and more with each one. Finally all thirty two were sitting with the bullet. They, along with the tweezers and pliers, were sealed in and packed away. The last step was to shave the alpha's head. Dragging him further down the tarp, Will clicked on the razor and made sure every dark strand landed on the blue plastic. The whirring sound wasn't very loud, but there were more shuffling noises and grunts from beyond the fence. He must have woken most of them up. Good. It saved him the trouble.

 

            For the last time, he lifted the corpse in his arms and brought it to the fence. The moonlight illuminated the pig pen in front of him, at least eight large hogs focused on his approach. They looked harmless, almost cute, but he knew better. When he placed the body on the ground he was quick to back away. They fell upon his offering eagerly, faster than he'd thought they would. A series of squelches and crunches filled the air along with the occasional squeal as they fought over their meal. He'd read about what they could do, seen them eat before, and he was somehow still unprepared for the sight of it. A man larger than him was completely decimated in roughly ten minutes, falling under snuffling noses and pointed hooves with a speed that would've been terrifying if it hadn't seemed so ridiculous. 

 

            This method was the most effective of those he'd found for disposing of a body, for him anyway. Pigs could digest every part of a human's remains except for the hair and teeth. The Mackenzies would never know what he'd done, never know he'd been here. They would eventually kill these hogs, take the meat they wanted, and sell the rest, never knowing that they'd been fed something far worse than table scraps. It was indirect cannibalism and symbolic cannibalism all in one. Humans eating humans. Pigs eating pigs. He thought the Ripper would approve. 

 

            Will leaned against the railing and watched for a few more minutes, a strange sense of detachment settling over him. Eventually he pushed off and finished packing his things, the scissors, clothes, and folded tarp finding their way into a plastic bag too. The cloth and hair could be burned, teeth and bullets scattered so far apart that they would never be put together again. The moment the pig pen and barn were behind him, it was easy to forget. The night was still quiet. The wheat still swayed in the fields, the moon still hung overhead. His car lights were still on. The trunk was shut with him muffling the noise as much as he could. Again he climbed behind the wheel, this time chucking the black bag onto the passenger seat. Circling around, he drove down the driveway and went home.

 

            His cool detachment lasted right up until he was standing in his living room, the bag slung over one shoulder. It was left on the floor in his rush to the bathroom. Will had barely managed to get the toilet seat up before he vomited, sides heaving as he remembered the stamp of hooves and the snapping of bone. By the time he was done his stomach was cramping and empty, a thin sheen of sweat covering his brow and clinging to his curls. Leaning back against the wall, he drew up his knees and stared upward into nothing.

 

            Because of him, someone was going to get away with murder. That alpha's body would never be found. There wasn't a body to _find_ anymore. Did he have a mate? A family? He hadn't seen a bonding bite or wedding ring, but that didn't mean anything when he'd actively avoided checking him. There hadn't been a ring, he was pretty sure. But that didn't mean much. Some people thought bonding was enough and didn't see the need for a marriage ceremony. Had _he_? Had that alpha left someone behind? Will didn't know. He didn't even know why the beta had killed him. He never would. And, in all likelihood, neither would anyone else.

 

            It took his dogs softly whining through the door for him to come back to himself. He pushed himself up and faced the sink, studying his reflection in the mirror. The person looking back at him was a mess, eyes wide and shirt stained with blood. Some distant part of him made a mental note to avoid that the next time he did this. Before he could think too hard about that he turned on the faucet and plunged his face into the sink once it was full. The cold water was a shock to his senses and felt good, honestly. When he straightened out and faced himself again, he thought he looked a little better. The taste of bile still lingered at the back of his tongue so he took a moment to brush his teeth, the mundane ritual doing a lot to calm him down. He stepped out of the bathroom with a clearer head than he'd had when he'd gone in.

 

            Starting a fire in the fireplace, he reached for the bag again. Blue eyes watched soiled clothing and chunks of hair burn to ash. When they were gone he stripped out of his shirt and chucked it in too, turning his back to it all in favor of his whiskey cabinet. Taking down a glass, he poured three fingers for himself and took a seat, watching the flames dance. They had already devoured everything he'd thrown in. As the shadows cast their shifting light onto the walls and the dogs huddled up at his feet, he reminded himself of his goal, told himself that this was necessary, that he had to do this to find his mate. By the time the glass was empty, he almost believed it.

 

            Three weeks later and he was still in need of convincing, even if there was no one to do it but himself. Everything had been going smoothly to this point, the beta woman sharing his contact info after he'd proven his usefulness. Now receiving calls to the burner phone had worked its way into his routine. He'd made so many late night trips to the pigs that they looked forward to his visits now, waking up the moment they heard his heavy footsteps toward their pen. Their squeals of delight had been added to his nightmares, not surprising him in the least. No one outside of the Rippers and himself knew what he'd been doing, the Mackenzies completely oblivious. Now he just had to wait.

 

            But that wasn't as easy as it seemed. With every call and every day that went by he grew less and less confident in his plan. The odds of news reaching the top were decent, but what if the Ripper had already filled the spot by then? What if he ended up the designated clean up man for the lackeys, never getting anywhere _near_ the Ripper? What then? He didn't exactly have a backup plan. In fact, getting out of this one would be even harder than getting in, Will having handled so many bodies that he'd be seen as a risk or become a loose end, and he'd seen what happened to those. Seeing so many crime scenes wasn't good for him either. Jack was right; he had been losing sleep between his excursions and guilt-fueled nightmares. Unlike the Ripper's displays of controlled artistry, these murders were less professional, sometimes almost sloppy. He didn't have the biological advantage of staying calm while examining them as they hadn't been made by his mate. All of this waiting was simply adding to his already high levels of stress.

 

            He'd been so lost in his head that it was a miracle he hadn't had an accident, instead pulling up the driveway and parking in his usual spot. It was dark out, but his headlights illuminated the windows enough for him to see Winston jump up and bark at him. Smiling, he cut the engine and walked to the door, bracing himself before opening it. His pack immediately swarmed him, tongues lolling excitedly while their tails wagged with happiness. Laughing, he waded forward and nudged the door closed before bending down to their level and accepting their enthusiastic greeting. "Hey, hey, settle down!" 

 

            After they'd each received enough pats and rubs he was finally able to stand and make his way into the kitchen. Their food and water bowls were topped off first, prompting another rush of fuzzy bodies, and then he made a dinner of his own. Carrying it over to the table, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched them step around each other before wandering off or coming over to him. Will always felt bad on days like this, where he had to stay overtime and didn't get home until late at night. The time he spent working on the case and the time he spent on this new 'project' added up to too much time away from his pack. They deserved better. Hopefully, once he'd successfully been hired by the Ripper he wouldn't get as many calls.

 

            The burner phone in his pocket chose that moment to ring. Of course.

 

            Setting down his fork with a groan, he slid it out and checked the number, half expecting to see one of the Rippers that had become somewhat regular callers. Instead it was one he didn't recognize. Flipping it open, he lifted it to his ear. "Hello?"

 

            A woman's cool voice cut through the tiny speaker. "The corner of Fountain and South Castle Street, Baltimore. One thirty. Don't be late." With a sharp click, she was gone.

 

            Will lowered the phone and stared at it in silence. That had been... odd. Most of the time when he got a call they would want him to meet them immediately or at least give him a chance to respond. Then again, with organized crime the hit might not've happened yet... He shut the phone and put it back in his pocket with a grimace. There wasn't anything he could do about it either way. For the time being he just wanted to get through dinner.

 

            There were still a few hours to go and Will intended to use them. He spent the first one playing with the dogs, opening the door and standing out on the porch while they ran in the yard. His porch light lit up a patch of grass before leeching out into the night. The blanket came with him again, draped over his body like a cloak. Even then it was chilly, a nip to the air that he couldn't quite stave off. His goose bumps and numbed extremities served to remind him of the hallucination from earlier and suddenly he was shivering from more than just the cold. It was time to go in. Whistling to his pack, he made sure to count seven dogs before firmly closing the door. They resettled by the space heater and he fell into a nearby chair, scooping up an unfinished book that he'd been working through.

 

            At around eleven thirty he decided to start getting ready. This was yet another thing that had wormed its way into his life and formed a routine, each step being checked off as he went. First he would put the black bag and a tarp into his trunk. That done, he would shower upstairs where he didn't tend to go, slapping a patch onto his shoulder blade as soon as he stepped out. He'd taken to leaving a separate stash of clean clothes up here and picked out a shirt and pair of pants. His main goal was to minimize his natural scent. He'd tried it a few times before taking the first step in his plan, going out in public and seeing if anyone could tell that he was actually an omega. They hadn't been able to. Neither had any of the Soldiers.

 

            Finally, he could avoid it no longer. It was time to go. Saying goodbye to his dogs, he got into his car and prepared to make an hour long drive for the third time that day. However, this time he had to rely on his phone's GPS once he'd reached the city limits, unfamiliar with the area the woman had mentioned. When he finally caught sight of his destination he couldn't help but feel a little nervous. 

 

            The corner was lit by a single street light, its beam cutting through the shadows like a knife. Around him the streets were empty. It wasn't all that surprising considering the time, but something was... off. He couldn't explain it. It wasn't like the people he met with chose well lit areas with heavy traffic for these kinds of things, but the stillness of the night was different than it had been every other time before. He didn't trust it. During this exchange he would have to keep his guard up even more than he usually did.

 

            At one thirty on the dot he stepped out of his car. The sound of the door opening and closing was far too loud, his mind comparing it to a gunshot as it echoed across asphalt and brick. He walked over to a wooden telephone pole opposite the lamppost and leaned against it, hands hiding in the pockets of his jacket. This alone was odd. He wasn't used to having to wait. Most of the time there was already a body by the time he showed up, just waiting for him to destroy any evidence on it and carry it away. Add this to the unsettling feeling making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and you had a bad situation.

 

            Just as he was about to leave, a car pulled up at the mouth of the alley on the other end, parking even as they left the engine on. The twin beams of their headlights almost met the light coming from the street lamp, a few murky feet of blackness between them. Nothing moved.

 

            His pocket buzzed. Reaching down to the front of his jeans, he took out the burner and flipped it open.

 

            The same woman spoke quietly. "Are you the one standing on the corner with one hand in his pocket?"

 

            "Are you the owner of the black sedan?"

 

            She hung up, the car's back door opening simultaneously. It was too dark and she was too far away for him to see many details, but a black woman stepped out and walked forward to stand in front of the car. Taking that as his cue, Will cautiously trudged over, eyeing the car's tinted windows and wondering who else was inside. The sound of her voice had him refocusing on her though. "You must be Will."

 

            Now he was over halfway down the alley, just outside of the area illuminated by their headlights. "Yes."

 

            She nodded to something over his shoulder. That was the only warning he got before a needle slid into his neck. Whirling around, he flattened himself against the brick wall to his right and slapped a hand over the puncture wound. A short man in a business suit watched impassively, the barest hint of a sympathetic wince flashing across his face. He was soon joined by the woman, both studying him as he struggled with the effects of whatever they'd drugged him with.

 

            His limbs were growing heavier and heavier and soon he was pressed against the wall for support more than protection. Even then his legs gave out, forcing him to slide down until he was sitting on the grassy sidewalk. The drug they'd given him must have been fast acting. There wasn't much he could do but stare up with wide eyes as the man approached. He was scooped up with a low murmur, feeling like a rag doll as the man carried him to the car. "Sorry, just business."

 

            The door was still open and the woman got in first, taking the seat further away. He was lowered, surprisingly gently, into the open seat and strapped in, head lolling back in a way that had his omegan instincts screaming of danger even more than they already were. With every blink his eyelids were rising less and less. Eventually he just let them stay down. His door was closed and another opened, presumably on the passenger side. It too was closed. The sound was strangely warped and fuzzy, like it was coming from somewhere far away. The woman's voice was that way too. "Drive."

 

            He blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose to go with pigs for disposal because a) that's in the series, actually! b) Will lives in a rural area so it seemed like a good fit c) I just thought it would be the most effective method. Pigs really do eat people, and serial killers have used them to dispose of bodies in the past. Even _farmers_ sometimes get eaten by their pigs in accidents! They are cute, but dangerous. :|
> 
> I've been to Baltimore all of one time and spent most of it dying of heat while walking the same seven blocks a few times a day, so I have no idea what the city's like. I tried to choose an address that had an alley opening on both ends without looking overly suspicious and turned to Google. I essentially just clicked a random area and went from there. Here's [Google's Map](https://www.google.com/maps/@39.284388,-76.587747,3a,75y,19.3h,69.81t/data=!3m4!1e1!3m2!1snw2IE_dF6ma0brpM9TCGpQ!2e0) of where I ended up. Sorry.


	5. Access

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, well. That cliffhanger obviously won't last long. This is much shorter than that other chapter luckily. Again, sorry for everything.
> 
> I may or may not take another break from this to go back to The Wolfsman, because I've seriously neglected it and my plans for that series as a whole. We'll see. As always, I make no promises.
> 
> I'd like to thank [Attack_Iguana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Attack_Iguana/pseuds/Attack_Iguana) for talking through the details of this chapter with me! They were a big help in filling plot holes and indirectly shaped the flow of the conversation to follow. Thank you!

~~~

 

            Will was blindfolded. The smooth material securely wrapped around his head and covered his eyes completely, plunging him into darkness. His glasses were gone. A distant numbness still flooded his brain, his mind shrouded in a fog that was reluctant to break away.

 

            He was sitting upright, but instead of a soft car seat it felt more like he was in a hard, uncomfortable chair. Shifting in place, he tried to stretch out his legs only to be brought up short. There was a clink, metal on metal. He became aware of something circling his ankles and wrists. Handcuffs then. Better that than rope or chains. Those spoke of something far more... permanent.

 

            "Hello, Will."

 

            His entire body tensed, leaving him frozen. There was someone across from him. This man hadn't been in the alley, not unless he had been the silent driver. Licking his lips, he tried to relax. It wasn't that difficult with his limbs feeling as fluid as they were. "...Hello."

 

            Something touched his face and he flinched back, startled and glad when whatever it was didn't follow. "I'm just taking off the blindfold." That was the man in the business suit. When he reached for him again, he let him. The fabric whispered against his skin as it was pulled forward.

 

            Blinking in the sudden light, Will found that he was in a small room. He'd been right about the chair; it looked like something from an office waiting room, curved grey plastic held up by thin metal legs. In front of him was a rectangular table. He was alone on one of the longer sides. There was an empty chair at either end, and then three more across from him. Those were occupied.

 

            Business suit sat on the left, the woman on the right, and the third unknown man in the middle. There were no pheromones coming from any of them, so they were either all betas or wearing patches. None of them spoke as they watched him take in the room.

 

            After a few more minutes of unnatural silence, the man in the middle cocked his head to the side. "...Well, you're a strange one, aren't you? You don't seem very worried. Haven't even asked any questions."

 

            Will glanced to a spot on the wall to his left. "Would you have answered them if I did?"

 

            He chuckled, eyes thinning with amusement. "Why don't you find out?"

 

            The woman protested, turning to face him. "Dr. Gideon-"

 

            "Quiet, Natalia. I want to hear what he has to say." His voice was strangely melodic as he waved a hand in her direction, like shooing a gnat away. She shut her mouth but clearly had more to say. That told him more about the situation than anything. The man, Gideon, had more authority than Natalia or Suit, probably an Officer. Looks like he'd gotten the attention of the higher ups after all. "Go ahead."

 

            Instantly he was overflowing with inquiries. Why had they felt the need to drug him? Where was this? What were they going to do to him? Each question was ultimately discarded as unlikely to be answered or something he could piece together on his own. He finally settled on one of the simpler, yet highly important ones. "...How long have I been unconscious?" If his patch stopped working while he was here then he would be in serious trouble.

 

            Gideon's gaze sharpened with intrigue. "That is _hardly_ the first thing I'd expect you to ask, but fair enough I suppose. It's been around... Let's say two hours?" He locked his hands together and placed them on the table in front of him, easing back. "Next?"

 

            Will eyed his loose posture with envy, his body beginning to grow stiff from holding him in the same position. The best he could do to relieve it was to squirm a bit. "Why am I here, Dr. Gideon?"

 

            "Abel, please." He leaned forward, the smile on his face coming easily even if it lacked any actual mirth. "There's no need for last names between us, not yet. But... in case one should arise, what _is_ yours?"

 

            "Graham." There was no harm in telling them. He had a feeling that they already knew more about him than they were letting on. He could tell that both his burner phone and cell phone were missing, their weight absent from his pockets, and while there was nothing to find on the burner there was obviously a _lot_ to find in the other.

 

            "Will Graham." There was something knowing in his tone that confirmed his suspicions, not that that was any help. "Now that you've answered my question, let me answer yours. Lately you've been very busy, haven't you? Several of my men have been raising a fuss about you, all good things, might I add. But they couldn't tell us much. Just a first name, Will, a number to call, and an idea of what you do. So we got a little curious, and here you are. Think of this as an interview." The smile was more genuine now.

 

            "And what exactly am I being interviewed for?" He knew what he wanted it to be, but that didn't mean that was what it was. The Chesapeake Rippers were a massive criminal empire. One spot was available, yes, but so were countless others.

 

            Giving a thoughtful hum, Abel moved his hands from the table to his stomach, folding them across it and tipping his chin up. "What do you know about the Rippers? I assume you must know _something_ as you were the one who sought us out."

 

            Thinking quickly, he decided to give generic information that almost anyone would know. "The Rippers are one of the nation's most influential mobs. You tend to be mysterious and no one knows how you operate. It's mostly rumors that get passed around. They say the Chesapeake Ripper is your head."

 

            "They say a lot of things. I've heard some stories so fantastic they bordered on becoming fairytales." His tone lilted up into something light and casual, but his eyes held a gleam. "And as for the Chesapeake Ripper being our head... Do you believe it?"

 

            Will paused, considering what his answer should be. If he said yes, would that seem off to them? He didn't want them to think he had a motive for coming that was directly tied to the Ripper, not if he could avoid it. That would just throw everyone's guard up. At the same time, he'd been the one to mention the Ripper in the first place, so logically he would believe it. To back out now would be stupid. "...I do."

 

            " _Really_." Abel's voice dripped with satisfaction. "Then the Rippers are a dangerous bunch indeed. For all you know the Chesapeake Ripper could be in this very room."

 

            Cautiously, he shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

 

            "No?" Arching a brow, he frowned slightly. "What makes you say so?"

 

            There were several obvious answers to choose from, ranging from lack of scent to the mannerisms of those in the room, but as an average man who wouldn't have any experience with the Ripper's distinct profile he took the safest route. "Intuition."

 

            A door quietly opened behind him.

 

            "Is your intuition always such a certain thing?"

 

            Time stopped, or his heart did. Two scents, both strongly alpha, mingled in the air, but only one of them had him instantly captivated. This was it. This was his True Mate, the first time he had smelled him in three years. It was like a weight he hadn't even known he was carrying had been lifted from his shoulders. He was suddenly grateful for his bonds, because every last fiber of his being was screaming for him to rip off the patch on his shoulder and in that moment he would've given in. A strangled whine was building in his throat and had to be swallowed down immediately. His body was doing everything in its power to attract his mate. Most of it he could control, but when he thought of how close he was to what he'd been missing for _six_ heats, how fresh waves of that scent were rolling over his _skin..._ He was glad to be on his period, because without a tampon he would've been sitting in a pool of his own slick.

 

            It took him a few seconds to remember that he'd been asked a question. Luckily he could play it off as being startled. Focusing was going to be so much harder now, the pheromones lacing the air a frustrating combination of calming and maddening. "Not always, but often enough for me to trust it."

 

            As he'd thought, two alphas came around to the remaining seats. He was already facing the left, so he saw the woman first. Her attire was casually elegant, a robin's egg blue loosely ruffled blouse and grey pencil skirt, and her icy gaze caught his own for a brief second before he could look away. Perfectly coiffed blonde locks neatly framed her face. She carried a minty smell, somehow reminding him of a cold stream thawing out at the start of spring. "Mr. Graham." Her delicately shaded lips settled into a professional smile. "I am Dr. Du Maurier and this-" She swept a hand toward the chair opposite her. "-Is Dr. Lecter."

 

            Holding his breath, he turned to follow the motion. There was no way of knowing what he would find.

 

            The Chesapeake Ripper, his True Mate, was already picking him apart. Dark eyes shone with keen intelligence and catalogued him, gliding from his head to his toes. He was foreign, with high cheekbones and a slim nose that lent him a patrician look. It was furthered by his three piece suit, the jacket, vest, and trousers slate checked with threads of silver while his shirt was powder gray. The tie and pocket square were, in contrast, bright, satiny red. His ashen hair had been methodically gelled back, not a single strand out of place. Broad shoulders spoke of the alpha's musculature that hid beneath the folds of his clothing, the only tanned skin showing that of his neck, face, and hands where they were clasped together in his lap. Thin, pale lips twisted appealingly as he spoke, an accent curling around the words and drawing him in. "Do you trust it now?"

 

            "I think..." Will's omegan side was absolutely purring. Every one of his instinctive desires had been satisfied. His mate was strong, handsome, refined, and would be fully capable of providing for him. Hiding the sheer, primal joy that had wrought was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. Fortunately enough, he was already well used to ignoring his base instincts in regards to his True Mate. The rational side of his brain was able to put a damper on the celebration meeting his mate had caused, reminding him of the reason he'd come. He had to test him before informing him of their status; it wasn't enough for him to be a good alpha, he had to be a good _man_. And as a cannibalistic serial killer, he wasn't holding out much hope. "...It needs to reassess."

 

            Inclining his head with only the slight narrowing of his eyes suggesting amusement, Dr. Lecter then faced Gideon. "Abel, how have things been progressing?"

 

           He had barely remembered that the others existed, all of his attention stolen by his mate's sudden appearance, but now that he glanced back to them the change was obvious. Natalia and Suit were both ramrod straight, practically radiating anxiety. While Gideon still held the same carefree attitude, there was a subtle tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before. If there had been any doubts about the two newcomers' place in the pecking order they would have vanished. "Well enough. We had only just begun when you arrived."

 

            "Ah, my apologies for interrupting then. Where had you left off?"

 

            "Actually, I had been leading up to the reason he was brought here." He pursed his lips before giving another easy smile. "But that might be better done by you, doctor."

 

            "Hmm." Crossing his legs at the knee, he leaned back and fixed Will with a speculative look that he was careful not to meet. "Perhaps. What do you think, Dr. Du Maurier? Should we allow them to continue or step in?"

 

            Will was still facing Gideon, so he was able to see her manicured nail tap against the tabletop from the corner of his eye. "I believe it could prove more conductive for us to take control."

 

            With that the interview was resumed, this time under new management. Dr. Lecter's voice was cordial and level. It was strange to see him wearing a human veil when he knew all too well what lay hidden beyond it. "The Chesapeake Ripper _is_ at the head of this organization. Word of your assistance has traveled to them quickly through certain channels and you have garnered their attention. They wish to offer you a certain position, but only if you are able to meet their standards. Therefore those of us in this room are here to see if you do."

 

            Again Will wished he could do more than squirm in his seat. Then again, if he could stand he would be pacing, and that would give away his nerves. He settled for swallowing dryly and turning to stare at Dr. Lecter's shoulder. "What would this position entail, exactly?"

 

            "Much of what you have already been doing." Tilting his head to one side, he seemed to be watching Will's eyes and mentally following their trail. "Would you mind indulging a curiosity of mine?"

 

            "...No."

 

            "What have you been doing with the bodies?"

 

            He drummed his fingertips against the plastic of the chair. "I live near a pig farm." 

 

            He'd been right about the approval. Dr. Lecter had understood immediately, his lips lifting at the corners while his gaze shone with subdued delight. While he couldn't see Dr. Du Maurier's reaction, he could tell that Gideon had also caught on. Suit and Natalia wore their confusion openly, but neither questioned it.

 

            "I see. And the other materials you remove?"

 

            "Hair and clothing are burnt, teeth are crushed into powder and scattered, metals and jewelry are either flushed or thrown away." Shrugging as much as he could, he stopped drumming. "None of it can be easily recovered or connected back to the Rippers."

 

            Fine brows rose. "That is quite thorough of you. In fact, it has been said that your method of finding potentially incriminating evidence is incredibly precise, catching even the smallest of details. It reminds me of something one in crime and trauma scene decontamination might be capable of doing were they to apply their skills to something like this. Do you have much experience in that field?"

 

            He blinked, not expecting things to go in that direction. "In crime scene clean-up? No, I've never worked in that field at all."

 

            "No? Then what do you do for a living?" And suddenly he could see it. Dr. Lecter was a difficult man to read, giving next to nothing away that he didn't want to be seen, and even for his empathy it was like hitting a stone wall. But just now he had tipped his hand. The Chesapeake Ripper wasn't just viewing him as a potential employee; he was viewing him as a potential threat. Things were about to get a lot more dangerous. Will had already been brought into one of their buildings and seen several of their faces, more importantly, learned their names. He would leave this room with the job or not at all.

 

            This question was a trap. He had already confirmed that he hadn't learned how to do this from CTS decon, and any other job interacting with crime scenes would obviously be in law enforcement. It was time for a calculated risk. Lying would only make him seem more suspicious in their eyes and they knew his name now anyway. One quick Google search and he'd be completely exposed. Steeling himself, he looked down to the table and took a deep breath. "I teach psychoanalysis at Quantico-"

 

            Before he could finish his sentence a scalpel was at his throat. He hadn't even heard Dr. Lecter move. "I see. I had been hoping this sort of outcome could be avoided. Unfortunately that is not the case. This is a great disappointment, Will."

 

            His mind was thrown into chaos. One side of him was trying to cling to logic, another was seized with fear, and one of the loudest was, confusingly enough, berating him for upsetting his mate. It was like his omegan instincts honestly didn't believe his True Mate could hurt him. He hadn't even realized that they had been subconsciously telling him that all along. They weren't wrong, in a way. Had Dr. Lecter met him while he wasn't wearing a patch, he had no doubt that he would've recognized their link instantly and he would never have to worry about something harming him again. Any alpha would do their best to protect their mate, but they wouldn't have _his_ alpha's fiercely obsessive nature and deadly prowess.

 

            But he _was_ wearing a patch. His True Mate didn't know about their bond yet and was more than willing to harm him. He could slit his throat and by the time his bloodied scent hit the air it would be too late. He could die here, handcuffed to an uncomfortable chair with this stupid patch on his shoulder. And it would be all his fault.

 

            None of these thoughts flickered across his face though. It was never a good idea to show fear in front of a predator and he still had every intention of surviving. The situation needed to be diffused. "Thirteen." 

 

            Blinking slowly, Dr. Lecter simply held the blade at his throat, the edge so light against his skin that it probably wouldn't leave even the indication of a cut. "I beg your pardon?" 

 

            "Over the past three weeks I've disposed of thirteen bodies for you." He was extremely mindful of the scalpel as he spoke. It didn't take a large amount of blood to release pheromones, and even a tiny nick could ruin everything. "I removed any incriminating evidence in front of the people who called me, I don't know any names aside from those I've heard in this room, and I've already told you that the bodies are gone. Even if they weren't there wouldn't be anyone tied to them but me. I might work at Quantico, but the FBI doesn't know I'm doing this."

 

            For far too long no one moved or spoke. He hadn't looked away from the space on the table in front of him, but he could feel the heavy weight of Dr. Lecter's scrutiny all the same. Tension crackled through the air and prickled at his skin. 

 

            Dr. Lecter stepped away and resettled in his seat, the scalpel disappearing up a sleeve. He was perfectly composed; one would never guess that he'd been threatening to kill him mere seconds ago. "While I appreciate your candor, I cannot help but wonder why I should give you my trust. You have already crossed one group you were aligned to; what is there to stop you from doing it again?"

 

            Will took another deep breath and it was deeply satisfying to know that he could. What had been a necessity was now a luxury. He wondered if the feeling would stick with him until he left. "I've always found double crossing sloppy when it isn't tasteless."

 

            "Do you have trouble with taste, Mr. Graham?" He turned to find Dr. Du Maurier regarding him as one does a pinned insect. The comparison was as unpleasant as it was accurate.

 

            Smiling tiredly, he shifted his weight. "My thoughts are often not tasty."

 

            "And how must they taste for one to betray the FBI?" Her tone was conversational yet cold. She was attempting to peel away the layers he was hiding behind. "What motivates you to do this?"

 

            "I have a large house, seven dogs, and make a teacher's salary. I could use more money in my account."

 

            She thinned her lips, piercing focus unrelenting. "It is my understanding that you have been paid approximately two thousand dollars for each of the scenes you attended. That is hardly a lucrative business considering that the benefits do not outweigh the risks, and not once have you ever tried to request a greater sum. You seem to be an intelligent man, so you should understand why I find it hard to believe that money is your sole motivator. It would be in your best interest to tell us your primary goal."

 

            Hesitating, he decided to try mixing lies and truth. "...Alphas dominate all branches of the FBI, whether it's field work or teaching behind a podium. People like me don't. Betas tend to get outshone and omegas face discrimination even there." In his peripheral he could see Natalia frowning sympathetically at his last point. She must have been an omega. That was encouraging, because an omega's presence would help him support his reasoning. 

 

            "We can work twice as hard as some alphas and receive no recognition for our work. Promotions to the upper ranks are nearly impossible to get. You have to constantly prove yourself and any weakness is targeted and exploited. Most of the alphas expect you to do anything they want, even the students. If you aren't an alpha then you're out of luck. But I didn't accept that. I wanted my work to be appreciated. Psychoanalysis is a useful tool and I've had more than a few agents ask me to build case-breaking profiles only to conveniently forget to give me any credit." That was definitely a lie. Crawford, the _head of the BAU_ , had barely convinced him, and if anyone refused to credit him for work he'd done he was more than willing to take it up with administration as long as he felt he deserved it.

 

            "It's hard to feel much loyalty to a place like that, where you can't argue or fight back without getting labeled as greedy or being patronized. They don't understand how difficult my job can be. To properly teach about all of these killers I have to understand them and their thoughts. They have me looking at gruesome murders and explaining how and why they're done, and over time I've gone straight past disgusted to apathetic. There wasn't anything I could do about them, not even the ones that hadn't been solved. I tried to become an agent, to make some kind of difference, but got rejected and trapped in a teaching position.

 

            And then I started hearing rumors about how the Rippers accept omegas and betas, all of them saying that it was a level playing field even if there was an alpha at the top. As you can imagine, the FBI doesn't make a habit of hiding generic files from its employees, especially not from teachers. It didn't take long for me to confirm that all genders were able to enter. I wanted in." His gaze rose to her nose. "You know what I did from there."

 

            Dr. Du Maurier had listened intently as he spoke, expression impassive and unchanging. But now that he had finished she was wearing the faintest of smiles. "All of that was fascinating and far more believable, but there is still a particular factor that you have yet to address."

 

            Frowning, he tried to figure out what he had missed. After a beat of silence he gave in and asked. "Which factor would that be?"

 

            "Your timing. I doubt you are unaware of it, but your appearance coincided with the Ripper's... shall we say, sudden need, for someone with your skill set. I would like to know how you knew when to begin."

 

            "I overheard Agent Crawford, the head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, talking with someone about the body found on the riverbank three weeks ago. They said that he'd been a Ripper and that the Chesapeake Ripper had killed him for a failed body dump. So I thought I would take his place."

 

            "And you do not mind that you would be working under the Chesapeake Ripper?" Dr. Lecter was watching him with hooded eyes, the heat in them enough to burn. Seeing that he had his attention, he slowly stood and leaned in, palms flat on the tabletop. The subtle nuances of his scent intensified, everyone but him and Dr. Du Maurier flinching back. Power freely flowed from his entire body, coiled within and being allowed to seep out. The human veil was lifted just far enough to offer him a taste of what was underneath. Will's eyes were fixed on his tie, the color reminding him of blood as Dr. Lecter's pheromones warned them all of an imminent act of violence. It was as though they were in the eye of a raging storm, unsure of when the danger would arrive but certain that it would. His voice had grown softer in contrast to the spine chilling smell, an unspoken threat lurking in every word. "Even if you are currently face to face with the Ripper himself?"

 

            Trying to ignore the thrill coursing through him from his True Mate's exuded dominance, he glanced up to his chin. He was shivering, but not with fear. "I don't mind at all."

 

            An arched brow and he was straightening out. His scent returned to its neutral state and the pressure was gone as suddenly as it had arrived. "While your composure and determination are suitably impressive, I am still not fully convinced that I can trust you."

 

            Will couldn't deny that he wished whatever had just happened had happened for longer than it did. The brief show of undeniable authority was enthralling, sparks of electricity and arousal still twisting low in his gut. Still, he managed to push them aside and think. "I don't know how much more convincing I can be. I've told you why I came and what my skills are. The rest is up to you."

 

            The slight upward twitch of his lips told him that he'd already decided, but for whatever reason the man was still pretending to be reluctant. "And if I do not find you that interesting?"

 

            For the first time, Will gave him eye contact. Maroon flecked with red stared back, eyes widening incrementally in mild surprise before studying his own with captivation. It seemed that his mate was holding his breath as Will had earlier. Dr. Lecter didn't know it, but they were both feeling the magnetic pull of a bond mate and it was proving difficult to resist. It felt like he was rising and falling all at once, strange and new, but his mind insisted it was as familiar as coming home. The moment stretched on for longer than it should've until he finally tore his gaze away and faced forward again. "You will." 

 

            A hushed pause settled over the room. Their temporary connection hadn't gone unnoticed, those in the room watching the exchange and instinctively not interrupting it without knowing why. He could still feel those eyes focused on him, but refused to turn his head. Finally the doctor adjusted his cufflinks and nodded, seemingly to himself. "...You will be contacted. Goodbye for now, Mr. Graham." He and Dr. Du Maurier walked behind him, presumably toward the door.

 

           The moment they did Gideon grinned, the look he was giving him more appraising than anything. "Well, well, well. A strange one indeed. Congratulations, you've passed the interview. It's irrelevant, but I feel that I should warn you that there's no going back now."

 

            Will stared at his nose incredulously. His True Mate was the Boss of Gideon's mob and the Chesapeake Ripper. He would, quite literally, die without him. The idea of 'going back' was so far from his mind that it may as well not exist. "I understand."

 

            "Then it's time for you to go. Ben." He inclined his head to the man Will had been calling Suit.

 

            Ben rose and came around the table, sliding out another syringe. He stopped at his side, frowning apologetically. "Again, business." This time when the needle pierced his skin he was ready for it. He closed his eyes and sank into the darkness with the knowledge of what would be waiting on the other side.

 

***

 

            Hannibal watched Will Graham go limp in his chair, only opening the door when Natalia began to unlock the handcuffs. He held it for Bedelia before stepping through himself. Neither spoke as they made their way down the corridor, silence hanging between them until they were shut into the elevator.

 

           Bedelia's smirk was anticipated, but managed to irk him anyway. "Hannibal, am I correct in assuming that Mr. Graham has affected you more than you'd thought he would?"

 

            Sighing quietly, he thought back to the stunning blue that had had him enraptured within less than a second. "You are, my dear. I am... not entirely sure how I feel about it. There is something about him that has caught my attention."

 

            "I suppose you will have a chance to find out exactly what that could be once you and he meet again." She crossed her arms, brow furrowing pensively. "...He's hiding something you know."

 

            "Yes, I am aware. But I do not believe what he is hiding has to do with infiltration as we had first thought."

 

            Shooting him a calculating look, Bedelia's tone dipped down into the one she used to broach patients that were about to become difficult. "And yet you do not know for sure. Are you willing to take that kind of a risk to indulge your curiosity for this beta?"

 

            Hannibal went through the entire conversation again, from start to finish. He and Bedelia had been observing from the moment Mr. Graham had entered that room to the moment he was prepared to leave it. He had been unusual to be sure, his responses to the situation entirely different from what others had shown in the past. The reason he had provided for wanting to be here, while cleverly constructed, was false. Hannibal had consulted with the FBI before and was familiar with the dynamics one could find in its halls. While it was true that the field was primarily dominated by alphas, the levels of gender bias Mr. Graham had cited were not present at all. Whatever the true reason was, the beta was determined to hold it to his chest even when faced with death.

 

            And hadn't _that_ been interesting? He hadn't missed the way his breath had hitched when first seeing him, nor when he had decided to test his resolve with a display of dominance. A light flush had warmed his fair cheeks, blue eyes dark as they dodged his own. At first it had been amusing, but after that parting glance... He wanted to trigger that reaction again.

 

            Was he prepared to take that risk? The smile that stole across his face was wicked and slow. "I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how well I did with Gideon. He's a fun character, but something about him is subtly tricky. Hopefully I was close enough to good enough ~~my life motto~~. 
> 
> Crime scene clean-up (CTS decon) services are a real thing and you can learn all about them [here](http://science.howstuffworks.com/crime-scene-clean-up.htm). It turns out that the government doesn't even help to clean up once the body and evidence are gone??? That's messed up.
> 
> I keep seeing the famous lines about "I don't find you that interesting" and love using them, but I've wanted to find a way to reverse them for a while and now I have! :D

**Author's Note:**

> My [Tumblr](http://visceralviscaria.tumblr.com).


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